Chapter Nine
“I finished a new painting only yesterday,” Mr Acton declared. “And I was rather hoping that you will all give your opinion.” He turned to Caroline and Georgiana. “Miss Bingley, Miss Darcy, if you would be so kind as to bestow yours upon me too, I would be most grateful. And do not hold back for fear you will wound my tender feelings. I seek to improve myself constantly.”
“Is that what you left in my kitchen earlier?” Miss Merryhill said, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Do bring it in and show us.”
The artist rose and disappeared through the doorway, returning with a large cloth-covered rectangle. This he settled on the floor, with considerable care paid to the precise angle and tilt, before pulling the cloth away in one smooth motion. Caroline wasn’t sure what she had expected to see—perhaps something amateur, or garish. This was neither; instead, it showed sloping hills in muted, though not tedious, shades of green and yellow. In the middle of the painting, a small herd of sheep grazed close to a shepherd, who was asleep with his hat shading his eyes. A lamb had wandered a little way from the flock and was staring down at the valley below. The landscape was clearly beloved by the beholder, and that adoration could be seen in every stroke of the brush.
As Miss Merryhill exclaimed over each and every detail, Caroline noted how Mr Acton’s eyes followed her every move.A man in love, she thought. It would have been rather romantic, had not the Grimleys been in the room as a reminder of how disgusting such feelings ofamorcould be.
“I quite agree,” said Georgiana, shaking Caroline out of her reverie. “It is a magnificent specimen. I have seen several of your works now, Mr Acton, and I think this might be my particular favourite.”
“Thank you very much,” he said, and though he looked pleased, there was something searching in his gaze. “And you, Miss Bingley?”
Caroline heard Georgiana’s intake of breath and felt a sharp elbow nudge her in the ribs. Really, there was no need. The man had asked for her honest opinion, after all.
“I like it very much,” she said, “but it is lacking something, is it not?”
Four pairs of scandalised eyes turned to Caroline, but she ignored them. Mr Acton was frowning at the painting. “You have hit on my problem precisely, Miss Bingley. I agree that it lacks something, though I am at a loss to discover where or what that missing something might be. Can you tell me—”
“The sky,” she said promptly. “There ought to be something else there, though I know not what.”
“Yes, I see what you mean,” said he, staring at it. “Yes, indeed!”
“Could you perhaps add an extra cloud?” Mrs Grimley suggested.
“It has quite a lot of clouds already,” her husband pointed out.
“Why, you are perfectly right, Mr Grimley!” she exclaimed. “How clever you are to have noticed all the clouds.”
Caroline gritted her teeth. God help her, she couldn’t endure another round of that. “A bird, perhaps?”
Mr Acton shook his head. “I tried a ring-necked dove, then a skylark. Neither seemed to fit.”
“What about a bird of prey?” She pointed at the lamb. “Something looking for the opportunity to swoop upon a young animal while it is otherwise unguarded and vulnerable.”
“A buzzard or golden eagle, perhaps?” Georgiana offered.
“Precisely!” Caroline exclaimed. “It might lend a slightly darker air to the painting, but perhaps that is what your buyers are looking for. Something which displays the full gamut of nature, from the peaceful and pastoral to the brutal and savage.”
The party broke out into excited chatter about precisely how big a buzzard was and whether anybody had ever seen a golden eagle in the skies of Derbyshire, so it was a few tumultuous minutes before Caroline could get a word in edgewise. While the artist himself was nobody special, the same could not be said of his work; it was a shame that such talent had been overlooked, when everybody ought to be able to gaze upon such beauty. A sudden idea sprang to mind—a way to turn the Grimleys’ simpering into something that might aid this poor man.
“I have heard it said,” Caroline declared, when there was a moment’s quiet, “that all the great marriages of the past insisted on having their portraits painted together, so that their love could be admired long after they themselves had passed.” She turned to the Grimleys, bestowing one of her most dazzlingsmiles upon them. “Perhaps you, with your equally great love, might consider employing Mr Acton to do the same. After all, his evident talent makes him an ideal candidate for the job. And of course, knowing you both as he does, surely he would be best suited to... to...” She hesitated, seeking a careful path through the thorny maze of honesty. “Imbue the painting with all the fervour of that passion and tenderness which you both possess.”
It was a truthful statement, yet conveyed none of her real feelings. Caroline mentally patted herself on the back.I am, in fact, a genius of the highest order. Perhaps even some sort of kindness savant.She risked a single glance at Georgiana, whose eyebrows had lifted so high, they were in danger of losing themselves in her hairline.
“A capital idea!” Mr Grimley exclaimed. “Capital indeed! I cannot believe we did not think of it before. Miss Bingley, we are truly in your debt. Mr Acton, I beg of you to consider bestowing this great honour upon us.”
“Oh, please say you will, Mr Acton,” Mrs Grimley cried. “You simply must immortalise us with your brush!”
Mr Acton shot a grateful glance at Caroline, though she suspected it was also tinged with some dread at the idea of spending a few hours alone in the Grimleys’ presence. “I would be delighted to do so.”
“And I am sure,” Caroline continued, directing her words again towards the Grimleys, “that once your friends have seen the result of all Mr Acton’s hard work and talent, that more will wish to have their portraits painted, too. One happy customer begets another. Is that not correct, Mr Acton?”
“I have certainly heard it claimed,” he said, smiling in away that made his eyes crinkle, “though I cannot comment on the veracity of such a statement. Perhaps in a few months I shall be able to.”
Georgiana was looking at her with a new expression that Caroline had never seen before and couldn’t decipher. Something about it brought to mind the lake memory, which Caroline had managed to forget for almost a whole hour. “Perhaps you and I ought to have our portraits painted together too, Miss Darcy,” Caroline said, her mouth suddenly dry. “Would that show how deep and true our friendship runs?”
The words had been spoken in jest, but Georgiana’s dark eyes caught hers, and there it was again—that strange lurching feeling in her stomach, as if someone had dropped a small frog into it.
“I rather think we—” Miss Darcy murmured, but whatever she had been about to say next was drowned out by the Grimleys exclaiming over the late hour and declaring that, despite their wishes to the contrary, they had to leave that very instant.
