The Painter's Apprentice (22 page)

‘I recognise this,’ said Beth. ‘This is where Cecily and I came with Lady Arabella for the St Cecilia’s Day concert. Some
pigs were being driven to market and they upset a fruit stall. There was chaos because the traffic was blocked.’

‘Watch out!’ Noah steered her out of the path of an oncoming carriage.

The Portland stone of the new St Paul’s cathedral shone white in the sunshine but it was clear that there was a long way to
go before it would be ready to use. The entire building was criss-crossed with timber scaffolding and mountains of sand were
heaped on the ground.

‘This cathedral will be a proud testament to the power of the Anglican faith,’ said Noah. He stood with his hands on his hips
looking up at the stonework.

‘A new beginning,’ said Beth. ‘What a sight it must have been when the old St Paul’s burned!’

‘Sir Christopher said the lead melted off the roof and ran like a molten river down the hill,’ said Noah, a faraway look in
his eyes as he imagined the scene.

‘How long will it be before the new cathedral is finished?’ asked Beth.

Noah shrugged. ‘The foundation stone was laid thirteen years ago and it might be finished in another twenty, if there are
sufficient funds. Shall we go inside?’

He led her around the back of the building and lifted up a large piece of sacking hanging from the timber scaffolding. When
they ducked underneath it Beth saw a small door in the wall. Noah extracted a key from underneath a nearby block of stone.
‘Here we are!’

Beth followed him inside; as he closed the door all street noise was muffled. The musty smell of new mortar and damp stone
assaulted her nostrils. From the perimeter walls of the cathedral, already in place, she could see that it would be shaped
like a gigantic cross. The walls soared above her but were still open to the elements. Blocks of dressed stone lay stacked
on the ground, together with more sand and workmen’s tools.

She craned her neck to look upwards at the sky so far above. ‘It makes me dizzy,’ she murmured. Her whisper echoed around
them in the silence and she shivered and glanced over her shoulder, suddenly overcome with the feeling that this was a place
of veneration, full of spirits not only of saints and worshippers past but of the future also.

Noah’s eyes were fixed on her. ‘So you sense it, too,’ he said quietly. ‘I knew that you would feel the same reverence resonating
in the air as I do.’

When she met his gaze she found herself powerless to drop her eyes. A pulse began to beat in her throat and she wondered if
he could see it.

He drew a deep breath and looked away. ‘I love to come here on a Sunday when the workmen are all at home. It’s quite different
during the week when it’s full of shouting men clambering over the scaffolding and heaving wooden beams up in the air.’ He
removed the remains of a workman’s lunch, a half-eaten pie and an apple core, from a block of stone, then spread out his handkerchief
for Beth to sit on.

They sat side by side, awed by the stillness. ‘
This
is why it’s so important to me to be an architect,’ he said, passion throbbing in his voice. ‘This sense of making history.
In years to come, when the cathedral is finished and made beautiful with carved wooden screens and decorative floors and embellished
ceilings, people who worship here will wonder about those who built it. Not just Sir Christopher, who will never be forgotten,
but Ned or Dick who sat here before us and ate lunch,’ he smiled, ‘or most of it, anyway, and then carried on building the
walls. I will have played my small part in it, too.’

‘I wish you could do that here rather than in Virginia.’ She bit her tongue, afraid he would read her feelings too clearly.

‘Of course, I could spend my whole life learning from Sir Christopher.’ He looked intently at her. ‘There are many reasons
to stay.’ He sighed and his gaze slid away. ‘And others to return. Architects with a vision of the future are needed at home.
I believe I can make a real difference there. You do understand?’

She nodded, her throat suddenly closing up as she tried not to cry.

‘Yes, I’m sure you do,’ he said, all fervour gone. ‘You have a lifetime’s work laid out before you at Fulham Palace and will
let nothing stop you.’

‘No,’ she said, wondering why the thought of freedom from a wife’s cares and spending her entire life painting made her suddenly
feel so miserable.

They sat for a little longer, each alone with their thoughts, until Noah sighed and stood up. ‘Shall we go? I know a tavern
not far from here that serves an excellent steak and oyster pie.’

Noah was right; the tavern served a hearty dinner and Beth enjoyed the unaccustomed luxury of roasted quails, steak pie with
fragrant gravy and lemon flummery washed down with a glass of canary wine. There was a noisy party at the table next to them,
full of jokes and laughter, who insisted they join them in finishing their jug of wine and then waved them off with ribald
good humour.

They left the smoky warmth of the tavern and ambled along Cheapside to settle their dinner and watch the other people enjoying
their Sunday promenade before they cut through the side streets to Paul’s Wharf.

A pervasive melancholy settled over Beth. ‘The day has passed too quickly,’ she said as they climbed into the boat. ‘I’ve
had such an enjoyable time.’

Noah took her hand. ‘Then we shall come again another Sunday.
There is much to explore in the city. Let’s make the most of the time I have here.’

‘I’d like that,’ she said, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of how quickly the
time would pass before his return to Virginia.

May 1688

Beth breathed a deep sigh of contentment. The gardens were truly lovely at this time of year and the air smelled sweetly of
honeysuckle and damp grass. Everywhere she looked, George London’s men were busy watering and weeding and she felt a stab
of guilty pleasure that she was enjoying a break from her own work. New flowers appeared in the garden every day as the weather
became warmer, meaning she’d had to work quickly to record as many of them as she could. The Bishop regularly visited her
in the studio, as pleased as she that her collection of botanical studies was growing so rapidly.

A haze of purple and white double columbines grew in the shade of an oak tree, their heads nodding on delicate stems in the
breeze. She bent to pick a small collection of the most perfect blooms to paint that afternoon, wrapping their stems in a
damp cloth to keep them fresh.

She wandered over to the wooden bench against the kitchen garden wall and sat down for a moment to enjoy the peace. It was
one of her favourite places from which to rest and survey the grounds. There were niches set at intervals along the wall,
each one containing
a woven willow skep of bees. The humming of the bees sounded lazily in the air as Beth closed her eyes, her face turned up
to the sun.

Drowsy in the early summer warmth, she let her thoughts, as usual, return to Noah. They had made another Sunday expedition
to the city, the Tower this time, and had visited the lions in their cage. Beth had felt sorry for them as they paced up and
down, enduring insults and rotten eggs from some of the visitors.

Noah had laughed at her when she said she’d like to set them free. ‘And have every man, woman and child in the city run screaming
through the streets?’ He’d hugged her briefly, his touch bringing a blush to her cheeks. ‘And if you took them back to Africa
they’d be too old and mangy to survive in the jungle.’

Then the taunting crowd broke into screams as the largest lion shook his mane, opened his mouth wide and roared. Slowly, he
turned round behind the bars, lifted his tail and projected a stream of urine at the main perpetrator of the insults. The
crowd roared in delight.

‘I think the King of Beasts can look after himself, don’t you?’ said Noah, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

Every moment of time that they spent together was intensely precious to Beth, a golden time before he returned to Virginia.
He came to see her in the studio at the end of each day and they had fallen into the routine of walking around the garden
so that she could show him whatever had come newly into flower. Often they sat under the oak tree by the moat, feeding the
ducks and discussing the events of their day.

But, in spite of all the time they spent together and Noah’s solicitous attention to her, he never said one word to betray
what he felt, or didn’t feel, for Beth, leaving her utterly mystified. He looked at her with tenderness and surely he must
know that she was smitten by him? She was beginning to wish she’d never made such strong protestations that she would never
enter the married state. Although she supposed that was still true, she couldn’t help feeling that she
did
want to love and be loved.

Sighing, Beth glanced at the sun high in the sky. Time to return to work. Passing by the bakehouse, she stopped for a moment
to sniff the appetising perfume of vanilla and cinnamon and apple on the air. Judith Tanner, wrapped in a clean apron, leaned
against the doorpost with a mug of ale and waved a friendly greeting.

‘Something smells delicious,’ said Beth.

‘Apple pies, cinnamon biscuits and custard tarts for dinner.’

‘You have been busy!’

‘Ah well, there’s always work to be done in the pastry kitchen. ‘How are you finding life at the palace?’

‘It was strange at first, being away from home, but I’m settling in now. And I keep very busy.’

‘I’d love to be artistic, like you. May I see your paintings one day?’

‘I’d be delighted to show you. Come by the studio any time you’re free.’ Beth smiled. ‘Have you been at the palace for long?’

‘Always. My father was the palace blacksmith until he died and my brother, Nicholas, took over. You may have seen him around
the stables?’

‘I have,’ said Beth. She remembered glimpsing a swarthy giant of a man in a leather apron toiling over the smithy fire in
a swirl of acrid smoke like some heathen god arising from the underworld.

‘Fancy a cinnamon biscuit?’ Judith disappeared inside for a moment and returned with a handful of biscuits. ‘There’s a couple
of broken ones and one that was a bit too close to the fire but you won’t mind that, I suppose?’

Beth held out her hands. ‘Thank you. I shall enjoy these.’

Beth set off, cutting through the passage by the coal store into the quadrangle. Biting into a biscuit’s crisp sweetness,
she crossed the courtyard on her way towards the main entrance.

A door slammed behind her and the porter hurried out of his lodge to unbolt the great oak gates. He shouted out to his son,
who hurried off towards the stables.

Curious, Beth heard the rumble of wheels on the drive and then saw a carriage approaching the archway. Two splendid black
stallions
trotted briskly through the gateway and came to a halt within a few feet of her.

The ostler ran forward to take charge of the horses, while the coachman jumped down and unfolded the carriage steps. A liveried
footman set off at a smart pace towards the palace.

After a moment or so, two richly dressed ladies descended, followed by a maid.

Beth caught her breath as she recognised Princess Anne. Unsure what to do, she froze back against the wall.

While they waited, Princess Anne did not speak to her companion, a fine-featured lady with fair hair and an aristocratic bearing,
but simply stood still, with her eyes on the ground.

Beth was filled with pity as she noticed Anne’s sallow complexion was unusually pale and drawn and that she had become very
thin. Then, as she watched, she saw the Princess falter. Her eyes turned up and she began to sway.

The companion squealed in consternation and the ladies’ maid, holding the princess’s large jewel case against her breast,
watched in wide-eyed horror.

Without pausing to think, Beth ran forward and caught the Princess a moment before she sank to the ground. ‘Quickly! Help
me!’ she called to the maid.

The maid thrust the jewel case into the arms of the Princess’s companion. Half carrying, half dragging Princess Anne between
them, they managed to prop her up on the carriage steps.

Now wasn’t the time for Court niceties, thought Beth, as she pushed the Princess’s head between her knees.

The maid scrabbled in her pocket for a bottle of smelling salts, which she waved under the Princess’s nose.

Feebly, Princess Anne batted her hand at the bottle and turned her head away. ‘What happened?’ she murmured. Her hair had
come loose from its pins and fell around her shoulders.

‘You fainted, that’s all,’ said Beth. She smoothed a loose strand of
hair off her face. The companion, her face outraged, bustled forward. ‘Take your hands off her! At once!’

The Princess blinked furiously for a moment while she looked at Beth. ‘Beth? Is it you?’

Beth sank into a deep curtsy. ‘Your Royal Highness.’

‘Do you know this person?’ asked the blonde lady.

‘Indeed I do,’ murmured Princess Anne. ‘This is my friend, Miss Beth Ambrose. You must remember, Sarah? I told you about how
kind to me she was when I stayed with her family at Merryfields.’

The lady’s frosty expression thawed a little.

The Princess turned back to Beth. ‘May I present Lady Sarah Churchill?’

Beth curtsied to Lady Sarah and was relieved to see Bishop Compton hurrying across the quadrangle to join them. In the hubbub
of greeting, Beth moved away and watched as the party made their way towards the palace entrance.

Then Princess Anne stopped. ‘Beth, come with us, won’t you?’

Taken by surprise, Beth remained motionless for a moment but the Bishop beckoned to her and she followed them inside.

Refreshments had been prepared in the Bishop’s private parlour. Beth found herself sitting beside the Princess with a glass
of wine in her hand.

Bishop Compton drew up a footstool at the Princess’s feet. ‘I am sorry to see you brought so low,’ he said.

‘It is not simply a weakness of the body but also a sickness of the spirit.’ She buried her face in her handkerchief and her
shoulders heaved. ‘The King
gloated
, I can use no other word for it, when he heard I had miscarried my baby. The way is clear for him now to introduce us to
his imposter son next month.’

‘And the King still seems certain that the child is a boy?’

‘Absolutely, resolutely,
stubbornly
certain. Such confidence in the outcome can only be born out of trickery.’ She blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

Bishop Compton’s expression was grave.

‘We travel to Bath to take the waters,’ said Lady Sarah. ‘And to pray for the Princess of Denmark’s return to good health.’

‘Will you return to London in time for the birth?’ asked the Bishop.

Princess Anne, her nose red and her face tear-stained, said, ‘In my present condition, I could not bear to be there when the
Queen is brought to bed, in spite of the King’s command in that respect.’

The Bishop looked thoughtful. ‘If you are not in the birth chamber to verify your so-called half-brother when the Queen’s
time comes, there will be many who will question the prince’s validity.’

A flicker of a smile appeared on the Princess’s face. ‘Indeed, I believe that to be the case. But I must not allow anything
to stand in the way of recovering my health. I wish to visit my sister in The Hague to take comfort from her but His Majesty
will not permit it.’ She stood up and smoothed down the disarray of her hair. ‘And now I shall rest before I continue my journey.’
She turned to Beth. ‘I have cause again to be grateful to you and thank you for your prompt action when I was indisposed.’

‘As always, I am at your service, ma’am.’

The Princess glanced at Beth’s hand. ‘I am pleased to see that you wear my ring.’

‘I am honoured to do so.’ Beth curtsyed deeply; when she looked up the Princess, Lady Sarah and Bishop Compton had gone.

The room was silent. She stood motionless, watching dust motes whirling in a shaft of sunshine from the window, then held
her hand up to the sunlight and studied the glittering sapphire of the Princess’s ring.

Later that afternoon, Beth carefully added another delicate purple stripe to her study of the columbines. She used her favourite
squirrel-hair brush, only a few hairs thick, applying the watercolour with
tiny strokes. The contrast between the white and the dark purple petals was truly beautiful and complemented the soft greens
of the leaves.

She pushed back her chair and studied the painting. Should she put another wash of colour on the leaves? What would Johannes
have advised? Perhaps not. Decisively, she stirred her brush in the pot of water and shook it dry. The painting was finished.

‘Very pretty!’

Noah was leaning against the door, his arms folded. She blushed as she was almost sure he was referring to herself and not
her painting. ‘You made me jump,’ she said. ‘Imagine if I’d knocked over the pot of water and spoiled the painting!’

‘That’s a fine greeting!’

‘Have you been there long?’

‘Long enough.’ He unfolded himself from the doorway. ‘This is lovely, Beth.’

She nodded. ‘I’ve never seen this variety of columbine before with the double flowers and the star-like form.’

The floor creaked and Beth’s heart sank when she saw Lizzie. She found herself unaccountably irritated that Lizzie wore a
low-cut bodice and the creamy skin of her full breasts strained over the top like freshly baked dumplings. She felt she could
almost bite into them herself, so heaven only knew what Noah was thinking.

‘Hello Noah,’ said Lizzie. She licked her lips and gave him a slow smile. ‘Haven’t seen you since the other evening.’

‘Hello Lizzie,’ he said. Spots of bright colour appeared on his cheeks as he shuffled his feet.

Lizzie stared at Beth, her face entirely expressionless. Then she drew a deep breath, expanding her chest even more, if that
were possible. ‘Ah well, must be getting on. Some of us have better things to do than mess about with paints. See you at supper
tonight, Noah.’ She bathed him in the radiance of her smile and left.

Tight-lipped, Beth collected up her brushes and the mussel shells
containing the remains of her paint and briskly washed them. ‘You seem to have found an admirer, Noah.’

He shrugged, giving her a sheepish smile. ‘I think perhaps I have. She’s very interested in architecture.’

‘Really?’ Beth raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

‘Yes, really. She makes a point of seeking me out to talk about the projects I’m working on in the city.’

‘And does she do the talking about architecture or do you do all the talking and she simply listens?’