The Painter's Apprentice Read Free

sighed. ‘I would so like to travel to the New World. I’m tired of living in a village and tired of Merryfields.’
    ‘How c-c-can you say that!’ said John.
    ‘Do you really wish to travel, Kit?’ asked Noah, giving his cousin a searching look.
    Kit shrugged. ‘Father will never allow it. I am to be a doctor and in due course take his place here at Merryfields.’
    John’s stomach let out a growl of hunger and everyone laughed.
    ‘Time for you lazy boys to rise from your bed!’ said Beth, pulling the pillow away from behind him. ‘And I shall take Noah
     to find some breakfast.’
    Beth led Noah along the gallery, stopping to show him the solar with the minstrels’ gallery overlooking the great hall.
    ‘These old houses are full of fascination for me,’ he said, running his hands over the carved oak balustrading while he peered
     down at the great hall below. ‘We have nothing as old as this in Virginia.’
    ‘When we were children, Kit and I used to peep down from the gallery at the grown-ups eating their dinner. Phoebe, our nurse,
     used to scold us back to the nursery but Mama and Father never really minded.’ Beth took Noah’s arm and turned him to look
     at the paintings that lined the panelled gallery walls. ‘What do you think of these?’
    Noah studied them in more detail. ‘Magnificent!’ he said. ‘Dutch?’
    ‘Yes. And no.’ Beth smiled. ‘They were painted by a Dutchman here in England. Take a closer look.’ She paused beside the portrait
     of an elegant woman dressed in green damask, standing with her face turned to catch the light of a window.
    Noah’s face broke into a smile. ‘Why, it’s Aunt Susannah!’
    ‘And if you look at the painted view out of the window you’ll see that it’s the garden at Merryfields.’
    He leaned closer to study the delicate brushwork of the lace on Susannah’s gown. ‘Who is the artist?’
    ‘Johannes van de Vyver. Would you like to meet him?’
    ‘Most certainly!’
    ‘Come with me, then.’
    Further along the gallery Beth opened a door. She watched Noah’s face, hoping that he would like her most favourite place
     in all of Merryfields.
    Three tall windows with diamond-paned glass flooded the room with light, even on such a grey and misty day. The walls, ceiling
     and beams were whitewashed to reflect light to every corner and the air was heavy with linseed oil and turpentine. A paint-stained
     work table was cluttered with earthenware pots of brushes, a half-stretched canvas, a wine-red grinding slab of speckled porphyry
     and neatly folded cleaning rags. One wall was covered with marvellously lifelike botanical paintings and larger canvases of
     landscapes and interiors in the Dutch fashion were propped up against the walls.
    A great bear of a man, untidily dressed and with ragged blond hair, stood before an extravagantly large canvas on an easel
     by the window. He had an ancient piece of sacking tied around his waist, encrusted with multicoloured daubs of paint. The
     tip of his tongue protruded through his lips as he worked.
    Noah moved forward but Beth caught him by his sleeve and put her fingers to her lips.
    After a moment the painter sighed and wiped his brush on his apron, adding a new rose madder stripe.
    ‘Johannes?’ whispered Beth.
    The big man started. ‘Ach, Beth! I tell you before not to creep up on me!’ He pulled a piece of muslin carefully over the
     canvas, hiding it from view.
    ‘Forgive me, Johannes, but I wanted to introduce you to Noah, lately come from Virginia. He is an architect.’
    Johannes offered his hand, noticed that it was smeared with ultramarine paint and wiped it on his breeches. ‘Everyone was
     talking about you at supper last night.’ His English was good, although he spoke with a Dutch accent.
    Noah bowed. ‘I’ve been admiring your work displayed along the gallery, sir. I, too, like to draw but I recognise real skill
     when I see it.’
    Johannes shook his head. ‘My efforts are never