The Painter's Apprentice (8 page)

December 1687

Beth and Susannah were in the great hall making a final inspection of the tables, carefully laid for dinner. Sara had polished
the pewter with lemon juice and horsetail until it gleamed and Poor Joan had shown a surprising aptitude for folding the starched
napkins into intricate crowns. Beth had arranged garlands of holly, yew and ivy running down the length of the tables.

‘It all looks very fine,’ said Susannah with a satisfied sigh. ‘I was worried it wouldn’t be what our new guest is used to
but I don’t think she can find fault here. I’d better poke my nose into the kitchen and then all we have to do is wait.’

The kitchen table was laden with fine white manchet bread, fragrant apple and quince pies all sparkling with sugar, the coffin
of mixed meats decorated with pastry birds with real pheasant’s feathers for their tails and two monstrous pike on a dish,
while the venison, the lamb and a spiced beef stew kept warm by the fire.

Jennet was almost lost behind the stack of pots and pans she was
scrubbing, Peg was mashing a dish of carrots and Sara was chopping herbs, while Phoebe arranged half a dozen golden-roasted
chickens on a platter, watched closely by the tabby cat.

‘It is only one new guest arriving, isn’t it,’ asked Beth, her mouth watering. ‘We could feed the five thousand with all of
this.’

‘I tell you, my feet are as swollen as two pigs’ bladders,’ said Peg. ‘We’ve been at it since before dawn and there’s still
supper to make ready for later.’

‘What a feast!’ said Susannah. ‘Get down, Tabitha!’ She gently pushed the cat off the table as she jumped up to investigate,
‘Well done, all of you. You’ve done Merryfields proud.’

The garden door flew open and Joseph burst into the kitchen. ‘They’re here! We can see the barge coming upstream.’

‘Beth, call your father,’ said Susannah. ‘I’ll hurry on ahead.’

William, wearing his best wig, was in his study but left his desk as soon as Beth told him that the expected guest was in
sight. The barge was tying up at the landing stage by the time they arrived. There was only just time for the family to line
up before Henry Compton handed the new guest on to dry land. He indicated to William that he should come forward.

The lady, heavily veiled, was wrapped in a claret velvet cloak trimmed with fur but Beth could see little of her, except to
ascertain that she was of middling height and solidly built.

‘Mistress Morley, may I introduce Dr Ambrose?’ said Bishop Compton.

William gave a deep bow. ‘At your service, madam. My family and I will do all in our power to make your stay at Merryfields
a pleasant one.’

She inclined her head and murmured a reply.

The Bishop introduced Mistress Morley to all the family one by one. They made their bows and curtsies, then he led the way
back to the house. The new guest’s liveried manservant and a lady’s maid followed.

Once inside, Susannah suggested that she accompany Mistress Morley and her maid to her bedchamber, where she might care to
wash her hands before dinner.

‘What Mama means is that she’s going to show her the p-p-private closet with the close stool,’ whispered John to Cecily.

‘Shh!’ Beth nudged her brother in the chest. ‘She’ll hear you!’

‘Why all the secrecy?’ asked Kit.

‘Surely she’ll take off her veil before dinner?’ said Cecily.

‘You never know, she may have a face covered in fur and start howling at the f-f-full moon!’ John tipped his head back and
made as if to demonstrate.

‘John!’ William’s voice was frosty. ‘Perhaps you’d better go and wash your own hands or our guest will think you are nothing
more than a common gardener’s boy.’

‘But I
am
a gardener!’

William’s lips twitched slightly. ‘Nevertheless, I don’t wish to see hands at the dinner table with enough dirt under the
fingernails in which to grow potatoes. Off you go! And all of you, please treat our guest with the respect she deserves.’

Mistress Morley did remove her veil before dinner. Beth was relieved to see that she had a pleasant, if rather sallow countenance,
lightly pockmarked and with a broad forehead and a long nose. Her eyes appeared to trouble her because she blinked a great
deal.

At dinner the manservant stationed himself behind her chair and the guests stared at her with curiosity but, since she appeared
so ordinary, soon turned back to concentrate on their exceptionally fine dinner.

After saying grace, Bishop Compton kept up an easy flow of conversation.

William carved Mistress Morley a choice piece of venison, while Susannah talked to her of the many agreeable diversions she
might
find at Merryfields. ‘And Beth will remain close at hand, should there be anything you require.’

Mistress Morley inclined her head and then turned to Beth. She blinked as if it took a special effort to concentrate. ‘I understand
you paint pretty flower pictures.’ Her voice was low, with a slight French accent.

‘I’d be happy to show them to you, if you wish?’

Mistress Morley nodded but turned her attention to the feast without engaging in further conversation. In spite of the downward
droop to her mouth, she ate a good dinner.

‘I must return to Fulham before darkness falls,’ said Bishop Compton, ‘I’ll call on you next week and see how you do, Mistress
Morley.’

‘I’ll accompany you to the landing stage,’ William said to the Bishop. ‘And Beth, my dear, will you look after our guest?’

‘I shall be glad to, Father.’

Bishop Compton kissed the visitor’s hand and took his leave of Susannah before saying to Beth, ‘I am very content knowing
that you will befriend Mistress Morley.’

Mistress Morley watched the Bishop leave, her plump chin trembling a little.

The others at the table dispersed to follow their various pursuits, leaving Beth to entertain the new guest.

‘Shall I take you on a tour of Merryfields, Mistress Morley?’

Anne Morley bit her lip. ‘Perhaps later.’

‘Or would you like to retire to your bedchamber to rest a little?’

A shake of the head.

Beth gave her a friendly smile, wondering how she was going to manage time spent in the other woman’s company if she rarely
spoke. ‘We have prepared a private sitting room for you. Of course, you are welcome to mingle with the other guests if you
prefer but Bishop Compton thought you would like to be secluded.’

‘I should like to sit quietly for a while.’

Groaning to herself, Beth kept up a flow of bright but unanswered conversation while they walked to the little parlour. The
manservant followed at a discreet distance.

‘Here we are!’ Beth said. She opened the door to a pretty room lined with oak panelling and a cheerful blaze dancing in the
grate. A cushioned seat built beneath the window overlooked the knot garden. Mistress Morley looked around her. ‘It will do
very well.’

Beth stood awkwardly in the doorway. ‘Is there something I can bring you? We have a good library or perhaps you would like
to play a hand of cards?’

‘No, thank you.’ Mistress Morley sat down in front of the fire and folded her hands in her lap.

‘Shall I leave you or—’

‘No!’ Mistress Morley looked up quickly, her expression anxious. ‘Don’t go!’

‘Of course I’ll stay, if you wish it.’ Beth sat down on the edge of the other chair. This was going to be much harder than
she had expected.

The silence stretched into minutes while Beth struggled to find something to say.

‘My mother has put some lavender oil in your bedchamber for you,’ she said at last, in some desperation. ‘It’s made to her
own recipe and is very good for headaches if you suffer in that way.’

‘Yes, she told me.’ Mistress Morley pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

‘I’m chattering too much. I can see that you’re unhappy and I don’t know what to say to help.’

‘No one can help.’

Beth chose her words carefully. ‘We have had a great number of guests here at Merryfields over the years. Almost all of them,
in time, do recover their spirits.’

‘It is true that I have been in low spirits lately.’ Her voice quavered and her hands restlessly pleated the handkerchief
on her lap.

‘Would it help to talk about your troubles?’

Mistress Morley shrugged. ‘Nothing can change how things are.’

‘I know that you have suffered terrible losses,’ prompted Beth.

‘Do you have children?’

Beth shook her head.

‘Then you cannot know how sharp is the pain I carry in my heart. Mary and Sophia were everything to me. And I lost all the
others even before they took their first breaths.’

‘Every child is irreplaceable but perhaps, in time, another little one would help to assuage your grief?’

‘If I am ever able to give birth to another baby. I begin to doubt myself.’ She broke off, her face twisting in anguish and
great tears rolling in fat drops down her cheeks.

‘Oh, please don’t cry, I didn’t mean to distress you!’ Beth leaned forward to clasp the poor girl’s hands.

Anne Morley collapsed into racking sobs.

Helplessly, Beth rocked her against her shoulder.

When at last the storm of weeping subsided Beth stroked the dark hair off Mistress Morley’s forehead and proffered her handkerchief.

‘Forgive me,’ the guest sniffed.

‘There is nothing to forgive. You have a great deal to be sad about. Tell me about your husband. Is he a comfort to you?’

‘George?’ Mistress Morley’s lips hovered on the brink of a smile. ‘George is a kind husband and has never blamed me for not
providing him with an heir.’

‘I should think not, indeed!’

‘My older sister, Mary, has lost one child and still waits in hope. Our mother lost many babies, too, and I sometimes wonder
if these difficulties run in families.’

‘You’re still young and there is plenty of time yet.’

‘Perhaps.’ She sighed.

‘Tomorrow we will walk in the garden,’ said Beth firmly. It would do no good to let Mistress Morley sit about moping. ‘Or
perhaps
into the village. The fresh air will put some colour into your cheeks.’

Mistress Morley glanced out of the window. ‘My sister and I lived not far from here when we were children.’

‘Where was that?’

‘Oh,’ she waved her hand vaguely in the air. ‘Not far. I lived with my grandmother in France for a while and then came back
to England. We had a governess, who had children also.’

‘And your father?’

‘We didn’t see much of him.’

‘So you must be close to your sister?’

‘She lives in The Hague now and I do not see her as often as I would wish.’

‘The Netherlands?’ Beth realised that she hadn’t seen Johannes for several hours, with all that had happened, and wondered
briefly if his mood was still low.

‘I have no mother, God rest her soul. After my babies died I wanted to go to my sister for comfort but my father wouldn’t
grant me permission. He doesn’t allow me to write to her, either. He intercepts my letters.’

Beth frowned, puzzled. What kind of father would be so cruel? And surely Mistress Morley’s husband would have had something
to say on the matter? ‘Why did your sister go to The Hague?’

‘She married our cousin and that is where he lives.’

‘My painting master, Johannes van de Vyver, comes from Holland. Sadly, he is subject to fits of melancholy but when he is
well he is full of good humour.’

Mistress Morley sighed. ‘There is much trouble in the world.’

‘You must try not to think of it while you are at Merryfields,’ said Beth, exasperated. ‘Perhaps you can imagine your stay
here as an island of shelter in your grief? A time to rest and be far away from all your troubles so that you may deal with
them more easily when you return.’

‘You are very kind. We shall be friends, I believe.’ Mistress Morley sighed again and managed a wavering smile. ‘And since
we are to be friends you shall call me Anne and I will call you Beth. But now let us talk of happier things. Tell me, have
you always lived here?’

‘Always. I love Merryfields more than any other place on God’s earth.’

‘And you have the good fortune to have your family around you.’

‘For the time being. My brother, Kit, intends to go to Virginia next month. It grieves us all. My father had always hoped
that Kit would follow in his footsteps and take his place here at Merryfields.’

A shadow passed over Anne’s face. ‘Fathers sometimes will force their own ideals upon their children. I know mine does. We
have so many differences of opinion. He is a papist.’

Beth raised her eyebrows.

‘He will never cease in his efforts to convert me.’ Anne stood up abruptly, her handkerchief falling unnoticed to the floor.
‘He refuses to see that the Church of England is, without all doubt, the only true Church.’

Beth frowned. ‘He is a papist but you are not? A child usually follows her parents in matters of this kind.’

‘My stepmother is a Roman Catholic and when my father converted to Catholicism, my uncle insisted that I be brought up as
an Anglican. He put me in the care of Bishop Compton.’