Chapter 9: Fred becomes intrigued by a portrait

Henry's studio looked out onto the Thames. The room had broad windows and a small skylight. A bright, cheerful light streamed in, warmed by the glow of the setting sun. Fred went over to the window and stared out at the deep waters, the rising tide swirling and streaming below. He had on his gloomy, poetic look and murmured to himself:

'Life's just a sigh among the treetops

A mere ripple on Time's never-ending stream

What is it worth to have a great ambition?

Our little thoughts are fleeting as a dream ...'

Henry threw up his hands in mock horror. 'For God's sake, Fred, old man, you don't believe all that. Keep your pathetic grinds to yourself, you're depressing me.'

'Life is depressing,' was the reply.

'Only if you let it be. Get yourself a wife, man. That's what you need. If not a wife, a good lay at least.'

'I sometimes wonder if that's all you think about, Henry.'

'Well, damn me, what red-blooded fellow doesn't? You're turning to a shade of milky-white, Fred. That's what all this philosophising does for you. Right, here's a glass of amber then. Down it, get some Dutch courage and start your tale.'

Fred took the glass and stared for some time at it. He looked at Henry and seeing his friend's look of puzzled expectancy, hesitated, then gathering himself inwardly, downed his drink and began his account.

'It was a terrible night, Henry. Some houseguests had stayed at the table after dinner and we all drank deep into the night, passing bottle after bottle of the port. At midnight most of the guests had to be helped to bed by the servants. Oh, but I ...I felt myself to be fine, a regular fellow who could hold his liquor. I brushed my man aside; I could make my own way, I said, and taking a candle, wended my way hazily towards the stairs. Somehow, my errant feet led me towards the basement area where I found myself standing, rather stupid and uncertain of purpose, outside the door of the kitchen where I knew the two scullery maids, Susanna and Bessie, slept at night on their little pallets spread out on the kitchen floor.

'Bessie was a girl whose powerful, coarse limbs attracted me. I'd seen her once or twice toiling in the scullery, her arms and hands reddened by the water as she worked in that dingy place from dawn to dusk. One day, I decided to pass by her and catch a proper look at her face though why such a dirty, unkempt creature should interest me, I had no idea. I felt fascinated by the earthiness and strength she exuded like that of some wench in a Dutch painting. As I came close, the girl raised her head and turned towards me. Her face was moist and glistening, her hair in damp, fair strings which fell untidily out of a gathered knot at the back of her head; her blouse was slightly unbuttoned and sweat glowed on her in the heat that arose from the copper where the water was being boiled up for the wash. I remember staring, transfixed by the sight of the top of a large, rounded breast, unable to tear my eyes from her.

'The startled girl suddenly become conscious of her dishevelled looks, as well as astonished at seeing me in this area, a part of the house I so seldom visited. She pulled at her blouse a little and stared back, mouth half open, a stupid expression of surprise on her face. Henry, I can't explain why, but I had to conquer a yearning at that moment that overpowered and frightened me; a yearning to pull that blouse back again and reveal those milk-white breasts beneath, to hold them and kiss them. Meanwhile, Susanna, the other girl who helped in the scullery, watched us both and her little ferret eyes took good note of all the proceedings, no doubt storing it up in her cunning little mind. That girl made me feel nervous; it was as if she could see into my mind, she wasn't a fool like Bessie and I realised I should go away at once.

'On that fateful drunken evening, I stood, clutching the candle, wavering unsteadily before the kitchen door. Susanna came and opened it, sensing someone there. She stood staring at me. Her eyes took in with one swift glance of appraisal my loosened cravat, my reddened eyes; her keen nose snuffed the smell of port and brandy. A faint smile came to her face. It was not for her that the young master stood there, that was for sure. The girl moved over and let me walk into the kitchen and took herself off somewhere out of the way with a knowing look in her eye. As for myself, I set the candle on the table and approached Bessie who cowered on her little pallet and tried hard to fend me off. She was a strong girl, this excited me the more, and so did the ensuing tussle. Naturally, I was the stronger and forced myself upon this frightened young woman, despite her protests and calls. No one seemed to hear her or take notice and thus I lost my virginity before passing out on the floor in a drunken stupor.'

Fred paused now and re-filled his glass from the whisky bottle. Henry twirled his own glass in his hands and then said, half amused, 'Well, Fred, it's not to your credit, I agree. But it's hardly the most evil of sins. I doubt the girl was a virgin anyway. These country girls seldom are. I suggest you forget it and put it all behind you now. After all, no-one's the worse for wear.'

Fred tipped up his whisky glass and swallowed the contents in one gulp. He re-filled it and did the same again. The fact was that he hadn't told Henry the entire story nor did he intend to do so. The remainder of the story, the consequences, were even worse in his opinion and he felt still pain and anguish over it all. Henry with his robust and sensible view of life would not understand. Fred had always had deep, strong ideals that he now felt were shattered; he had always longed to be pure of heart but it seemed as if that purity had now been blemished irretrievably and nothing could take away the stain.

'No woman will ever love me, Henry,' he said sadly,' no pure and lovely girl will ever want me.'

'Nonsense, Fred. She need never know. You wouldn't surely speak of all this to a bride on your wedding night.'

'No, of course not. But I would know. And I feel it would unman me.'

'Heavens, man, you're far too sensitive. It would do nothing of the sort. I'll get you "manned" again. Come over here and I'll show you something that will raise your cock, I promise.'

Henry began to gather some chalks that were scattered on a small table and flung them pell-mell into a box so vigorously that some of them broke in half. Fred came over and helped him. 'For Heaven's sake, you're so careless, Henry! Here, let me do it.'

'Oh, you do it,' snorted Henry, 'you're worse than an old woman; you're so infernally tidy and fussy. Come and see this stunning brunette. I know you prefer brunettes to blondes. What d'you think of her?'

Fred turned round to view the easel near the window.

'A brunette?' he smiled. 'What, no redheads and blondes? This is a change of heart for you.'

'You'll like this one,' said Henry, 'I can definitely wager she'll be your type. If you'd been here an hour ago, you'd have seen the goddess herself.'

Fred paused, intrigued and interested, and took a long look at the large sheet of paper on which his friend had been busy before he came. It was already well sketched out and much of the face drawn in fine detail. Henry had captured the expression and the features of a young woman with an extraordinary mass of dark, luxuriant hair dressed in large plaited coils about her face. Fred drew closer to take a better look.

This girl had an unusual and striking kind of beauty, quite unlike Henry's usual models and certainly nothing like the plump and florid Rosie whose attributes filled most of his designs these days. There was a harder quality about this long, narrow face. The bone structure was well defined, the mouth had full, curved and sensual lips and the eyes, slightly turned up at the corners, looked into the distance full of intelligence and expressiveness.

Henry often made sketches and plans in chalks or pencil before transferring the ideas to canvas. Fred wondered what completed picture he had in mind.

'You never mentioned anything about this. I didn't see this last time I was here. Are you planning some dark Morgana or a Lilith?'

'No, no. This is to be a paid-for portrait of the young lady. And just in the nick of time too. I owe a month's rent and Mrs Russell won't let me chalk up any more on credit. Reminds me, have you got any tin on you? Can you let me have a couple of guineas? I'll pay it back soon.'

Fred stared for a long time at the picture. He loved this face. It was so unique and exquisite that he didn't even hear Henry's last comment properly and absent-mindedly handed over two guineas.

Henry chuckled as he pocketed the money. 'I knew you'd fall for this face.'

'As always, you're absolutely bloody right. I'll buy it when it's finished,' said Fred. He felt serious all of a sudden. This was a face that pulled at something deep within him. 'Where the devil did you find her? Is she one of your latest discoveries?'

'She's a stunner all right, but she's not for sale, Fred, not the picture, nor the girl.'

'What? Why not? Why not to both notions? She's a beauty, a real beauty and you've just begun to capture her. Has she truly a mouth like that?'

'Oh, I like luscious lips, you know that. They look so kissable. And yes, these look exactly like the original.'

'Why won't you sell her to me?' pleaded Fred. 'I'll give whatever you ask, pay off your rent debts if you like. That's a good offer, isn't it?'

Henry looked at him, his brown eyes full of amusement. 'Aha ...someone's beaten you to it, my friend.'

'Well, damn them! I'll pay more than them then.'

Henry was wistful. 'Pity, I can't oblige you, Fred, but the claim is greater when it's the girl's father who wants the picture. I think you'll agree? Besides he's going to pay me a sum in advance so I can settle up with old Ma Russell then. And it's a very good price. I doubt you could match it anyway.'

'Who is she, then?' asked Fred, looking at the picture again, stirred by the mystery that seemed to surround her.

'She's the daughter of Joshua Farnham, the barrister.'

'I've heard of the fellow, but I never knew he had such a glorious daughter or I'd have dug her out ...why, I'm half in love with her already! Can't you introduce me?'

'Guarded like the rare pearlie she is, alas!'

The portrait drew Fred's eyes again. He loved something about the line of those eyes, the tenderness of those lips. Was she really like this or had Henry managed to soften and transform her, as he did all his sitters, into some indefinable dream person that had been filtered through his own romantic imagination?

'If I can't have the picture in oils, I'll buy this chalk study at least. I wish I could see the original,' said Fred with longing. 'What's her name, anyway?'

'Eleanor Mary. They call her Ellie.'

'How romantic! How suitable! Eleanor, the Fair Maid of Astalot.'

'Don't get too excited,' said Henry, with a laugh that turned into a cough.

'That damned river - shut the window, Fred. It stinks more than ever tonight now the weather's warmed up. Gives me such a bad throat in the summer.'

'I wish you would move to somewhere a trifle more salubrious,' said Fred,

'I'm terrified you'll get the cholera.'

'It's better than the place I was in before with the tanner's yard at the back, remember that one? My God, that was disgusting! Couldn't bear the smell of that. I'd rather have the river. I will move once I start to make some more money. Maybe this commission will be the start of something lucrative. Old Farnham's as rich as Croesus. Maybe he'll find me more clients. I have high hopes.'

Fred took another long look at the portrait of Eleanor Farnham.

'When will she be back for a sitting?'

'Tuesday afternoon - why?'

'I want to come along and watch you paint her.'

'Aha ...you are captivated by the lovely Eleanor! Come by all means. But I warn you that she always brings two ancient dragons from home, her maid and an old governess, who is some sort of companion or duenna. You'll have to call as if by chance and then I'll introduce you.'

Fred felt suddenly elated. His moodiness lifted and excitement stirred in him. He sensed adventure or even more than that; he sensed something intangible that flowed from a half-finished portrait that might lead him to some unimagined joy and happiness.

'I'll be there!' he said, 'on Tuesday afternoon!'