“Shetaught him to say that,” Mr. Ladle muttered. “I know she did.”
“The best you can do now,” Viola said, “if you wish to have Mrs. Ladle’s gaze averted from you, is to hand Chester over to us and begone.”
Mr. Ladle seemed to consider the advice. Then, thinking better of having his dead wife staring at him from heaven all the time, he shoved the cage into Viola’s arms and fled out the doors.
As they were all cooing at Chester, who seemed a deal more sanguine after seeing the back of Mr. Ladle, the earl came in from the inn yard.
“Look, Papa,” Juliet said, “we’ve got a parrot!”
If the earl was not quite as overjoyed at this turn of events, he was not as irate as some other fathers might be. The Earl of Westmont was a rather even-tempered man who only lost his equanimity over a house fire.
He stared at Chester and said softly, “Of course you have.”
That evening, asso often occurred when the Benningtons journeyed, they encountered a rather genial fellow traveler. This gentleman’s name was Mr. Thomas Lawrence and he was speedily identified astheThomas Lawrence—the most famous portrait painter in England.
Considering that Viola had so recently taken up the art herself, and brought with her a portrait she’d been working on that may or may not have been Lord Baderston, the earl was pressed to invite the gentleman to dine with them.
The table had been laid and the courses arrived with an inn’s usual organized rapidity. Viola found Mr. Lawrence a pleasant enough person, though she had expected a famous portrait painter to be something more. Perhaps more flamboyant or eccentric, or so taken up with his art that he ignored the niceties of society.
She’d often found she was just that eccentric herself whenever she was gripped by a sudden feeling of inspiration and ran to pick up a brush.
As it was, Mr. Lawrence was seemingly usual in all respects. His only eccentricity at all was his aversion to birds.
They had not the heart to leave Chester by himself in their rooms after his harrowing afternoon, and so his cage currently sat on a window seat nearby the table.
Mr. Lawrence was seen to be often glancing toward the cage as if he were afraid Chester might let himself out of it.
It was true that Chester had occasionally interrupted the table’s conversation with one of his own comments, but what bird would not be full of nervous energy after having his cage rattled by Mr. Ladle?
In any case, Chester had quieted quite a bit after receiving a few biscuits and a handful of almonds.
“Mr. Lawrence,” Miss Mayton said, “we have painter in our own family sphere. Lady Viola took it up just last year and is prodigiously talented.”
“Excellent. Who do you study with, my lady?” he asked Viola.
“Study with?” Viola said, rather surprised by the question. “Well, we did all have a drawing master years ago. But he was always putting charcoals in our hands and so we never got anywhere with it.”
“You see, Mr. Lawrence,” Cordelia said, “Viola was all along a painter, not a sketcher. She knew it as soon as she picked up a brush.”
“She took right to a brush like it had been in her hand all along,” Juliet said, nodding.
“Do you say, then, that we speak of a sudden, prodigy sort of talent?” Mr. Lawrence said, beginning to look very intrigued.
The earl coughed and said, “Now, I would not go so far—”
“Practically a phenomenon,” Miss Mayton said. “After all, when I think where our Viola was when she began, and where she is now, well, it makes one’s head spin.”
“I would be interested in seeing something of this,” Mr. Lawrence said.
“I really do not think—” The earl said, brows knitting.
“Now, Papa,” Cordelia said, “do not be modest on Viola’s behalf. Mr. Lawrence, it so happens that the painting that our sister is just now in the midst of creating is in our carriage. Viola let it dry for five days so we might take it with us.”
“It is, naturally, only in development,” Viola said, as a waiter came round with a syllabub.
Mr. Lawrence nodded. “And so, you might not wish anyone to view it just yet. That, of course, is understandable. To the untrained eye, a portrait not yet finished can seem rough and confused.”
“Yes, that is it exactly,” the earl said with enthusiasm. “It simply is not ready.”
