I must paint her. It was a thought that haunted Daniel Browne day and night.
During the first weeks of his apprenticeship, Daniel loved his work restoring paintings but he longed for the hours he was free to draw the images of Our Lady that filled his head.
Every Sunday morning he took communion but it wasn’t religious fervour that motivated him. He visited the cathedral and many other churches hungry to discover all their artworks.
Today was his first exposure to St Michael’s. Daniel was overwhelmed by the ritual, colour and incense which seemed like a theatrical experience compared with the plain Low-Church services of his village. He gazed at the large stained-glass nativity window, thrilled by its beauty. In the bottom panel the Virgin Mary was depicted with hands clasped in prayer, a traditional sky-blue robe draped over her russet-red gown.
Daniel could never pray from the heart to the god who had taken his mother from him, but the Virgin’s gentle beauty spoke to his soul and allowed him to make a silent confession.
It isn’t the stigma of illegitimacy that weighs heavily on me, Holy Mother. It is knowing that in my first act of life I killed my own mother. I beg you, take away my guilt.
There was no answer. He was distracted by the sight of a young girl kneeling at the altar rail to take communion. Dark hair flowed down her back from the circlet of fur crowning her head. Her profile was as serene as a nun taking her final vows. Her tight Russian jacket could not hide that her chest was almost as flat as a boy’s but the soft, feminine beauty of her face more than compensated. Daniel was not surprised that she did not return his glances. She was clearly too far above him in station to notice an apprentice with paint-stained fingernails.
At the conclusion of the service Daniel hurried to his basement room and struggled to capture the Virgin Mary’s face in his first oil painting. His concentration was broken by footsteps in the gallery above. Shaking with fear at the prospect of confronting a thief, he armed himself with the poker from the fireplace and crept barefoot up the stairs. Maynard Plews eyed Daniel’s weapon with raised eyebrows.
‘You disappeared after church, lad. Before I had a chance to invite you to dinner tonight.’ His mouth twitched. ‘It’s safe to lay down your weapon. No need to protect yourself from me.’
‘Sorry, Sir. I thank you for your kind invitation.’
‘My family will be pleased to have a fresh source of conversation. Shall we say half six?’
Daniel was grateful but annoyed that he’d have less time to work on the Virgin Mary painting. After his master’s departure he rechecked that the cash box was locked in the safe. The man was growing absent-minded – he had left a small parcel tied with string on the desk.
Back in front of his canvas Daniel fought to master the oil paints. The colours excited him but his Virgin Mary’s face was stiff and remote.
As he fought to give her life, he lost all sense of time. Mindful he must not arrive late for dinner, he ran upstairs to check the clock in the gallery.
Light from the streetlamp filtered through the store window. Daniel was transfixed by a sight at the far end of the gallery.
The Virgin Mary. Diffused light glowed from the outline of her sky-blue robe. Her gentle features were half in shadow. A halo outlined the cowl around her head. He sank to his knees, his eyes blinking as he searched for a prayer to express his gratitude that the Holy Mother had chosen to come to him. The Virgin’s lips parted to deliver her holy message.
‘Pray tell me, lad. Have you seen aught of Father?’
‘Father?’ Daniel gasped at the sound of the Virgin’s Cheshire accent. The holy vision shimmered and disappeared. Standing before Daniel was a girl in a blue hooded cloak – the same girl he had seen in church that morning.
‘Aye. Mr Plews,’ she said with a blush. ‘Your employer.’
‘No. I mean, yes. He called in after church and left this parcel behind.’
‘Thank heavens. Father forgot where he’d left it.’
She shifted nervously from one foot to the other.
‘Father said you’ll join us for dinner. Do you know the way, lad?’
He nodded, then followed her gaze to his bare feet.
‘Just cleaning my boots, I was,’ he lied.
‘I’d best be going.’ The girl edged toward the door. ‘I’m Miss Plews. Sara Anne. My friends call me Saranna.’
Daniel watched her retreating figure hurrying down the street, the wind wrapping the hem of her blue cloak around her ankles.
He locked the gallery door. Tonight’s Sabbath meal at his master’s house had taken on a whole new meaning.
He rushed down to the basement. His painting was cold, lifeless – unworthy of Our Lady. He began feverishly sketching Saranna Plews’s face, jubilant that he had found her. His perfect Virgin Mary.
• • •
Seated opposite Saranna at dinner Daniel noticed that her eyes were the same blue as the Virgin Mary’s robes. The collar of her white lace blouse was so high it seemed to hold her head erect. He took note of her fingers constantly touching a cameo brooch at the base of her throat, as if it linked her to something important.
She blushed whenever she ventured a rare comment. Daniel vowed to spend his next pay on good quality oil paints to do her justice. Who needed food? Art alone satiated his appetite. Yet the Virgin’s offer of second helpings reminded him this was his first proper meal in weeks.
Daniel sensed Saranna was a romantic girl who led a sheltered life under the eagle eye of her Aunt Georgina, who was seated at the opposite end of the table to her brother. It soon became clear to Daniel that the elderly spinster had raised Saranna since the death of Saranna’s mother. The woman twittered like a bird but her sharp eyes missed nothing.
After the pudding dishes were cleared Maynard Plews made an excuse to usher his sister from the room. Saranna shifted in her seat and looked around the room as if searching for words. Daniel was content to study her but finally broke the silence.
‘Miss Plews, your father tells me you are fond of drawing.’
Saranna stammered in reply. ‘Indeed I am. But my work is poor. Father says you are most gifted. Perhaps one day you would care to show me your work?’
‘I would be well pleased.’ Daniel pushed back an errant lock of hair, a mannerism that he knew betrayed his nervousness. ‘But I doubt that your father—’
‘Her father wouldn’t mind one jot,’ Maynard Plews said as he came back into the room. When Saranna didn’t respond, he prompted her. ‘Daniel’s work is impressive. He’d be pleased to teach you, I’m sure.’
• • •
Two weeks later Daniel arrived bearing his portrait of the Virgin Mary. The Plews family exchanged sidelong glances. Aunt Georgina could not contain herself.
‘Fine it is. Even if your Virgin Mary bears an uncanny resemblance to our Saranna!’
Maynard Plews put on a show of surprise. ‘Aye, so it does. What do you think, lass?’
Saranna blushed scarlet when all three turned to hear her verdict. Daniel covered her embarrassment with a request to his master.
‘May I have your leave to present it to your daughter, Sir?’
Maynard Plews gave a nod of approval. Saranna’s heart was in her eyes as she held out her hands to accept Daniel’s gift.
At the end of the meal Maynard Plews rose from the table.
‘I trust you ladies will excuse us while we enjoy a port in my study.’
Daniel tried to settle into the leather armchair. He wasn’t used to being treated as an equal.
On tasting the port he was quick to commend it. He noted the amused twitch of his employer’s moustache. His first ever sip of a liqueur relaxed Daniel enough to respond to the offer of a cigar.
‘You’ve done well as my apprentice these past months, lad. You have absorbed the techniques of restoring damaged paintings with remarkable speed.’
‘I am grateful for the opportunity to do so under your expert guidance.’
‘Who knows, you might take over the business from me some day.’
Daniel was startled. ‘That goal is far beyond me, Sir.’
‘Modesty is fine in its place. But you are also ambitious.’
‘I assure you, Sir—’
‘Naught wrong with ambition.’
‘I can’t deny it, Sir, but I’ve had scant education. Born in the poor-house and I bear my mother’s name. I could never begin to hope—’
‘Nonsense. Many a lad has risen from lowly estate to make his mark. I arrived in Chester as a young lad from Yorkshire without a penny to bless myself. And just look at our Captain James Cook. Began life as a humble farmer’s son. Now his discoveries in the southern hemisphere rank him as one of history’s greatest navigators.’ He refilled Daniel’s glass. ‘I hold self-made men in high esteem, lad.’
Daniel seized the chance to turn the conversation to art.
‘Your botanical books on New South Wales show amazing flora and fauna unlike no other on the globe. I’ve been experimenting with colour to see if I can get close to the original works.’
Daniel felt his master was observing him closely.
‘Aye, I’m gratified to see you are hungry to learn, lad. It took me years to prove myself worthy to marry Saranna’s mother. She refused other offers of marriage and stubbornly waited for me to make a decent enough living to satisfy her father. Now, at my time of life, I would welcome a partner in business. Understand me. I’m nay one to hold the circumstances of a lad’s birth against him. Should his intentions be honourable and lead him in direction of marriage.’
Daniel caught his breath. Marriage? A partnership? Were these offers in tandem? Before he had time to respond, Maynard continued.
‘Now, down to business. I’d welcome your ideas on how to counter these difficult times. We’ve lived on a financial seesaw since Napoleon Bonaparte got the chop and the whole country was flooded with soldiers and mariners in search of work.’
Daniel found it difficult to concentrate. All he could think about was how being a partner in the gallery would be a golden opportunity to establish himself as an artist.
• • •
During the following weeks, however, Daniel could not fail to notice the signs indicating a decline in the business. He suspected the cause was aggravated by Maynard Plews’s increasing absent-mindedness.
Attempting to turn the tide and improve his master’s fortunes as well as his own, Daniel spent long hours at night restoring a set of six eighteenth-century landscape paintings. The artist had died young, leaving a limited legacy of his work, which was now considered quite valuable. One painting was so badly water-stained that Maynard Plews had warned the owner that the quality of the painting was irretrievable. After Daniel completed the restoration work on the other five, he looked closely at the ruined painting. He knew it was common practice for students to copy the work of famous artists to learn the secrets of their technique.
Why not see if I can reproduce the style of this damaged work? I will learn much in the process. It is not a subject I’d choose to paint myself but it will be an excellent discipline.
Daniel searched through all the blank canvases for one that suited his purpose. He settled down to work, secure in the knowledge he would not be disturbed. His master now spent most evenings in his study poring over the business accounts that troubled him.
• • •
On the evening of Maynard Plews’s birthday dinner, Daniel arrived early with his gift – a framed portrait of his master painted from memory.
Saranna hung Daniel’s painting in pride of place over the fireplace then bustled off to help Aunt Georgina with last-minute preparations.
Alone with the portrait Daniel was pleased with the way he had captured the subject’s craggy features above the short, grey beard, the broad cheekbones hollowed by age. He felt he had caught the essence of the man’s character, his sharp Yorkshire common sense, softened by the observant, almost sad quality of the eyes.
He was startled by Maynard Plews entering the room.
‘Aye, mighty impressive. You’ve got me down to a tee, lad. Even the perpetual frown I’ve been wearing of late due to the rocky times we are forced to weather.’
‘I’ll work hard to help you sail through it, Sir.’
‘Aye, lad, you already have at that. Mr Gordon is right pleased with your restoration of his landscapes. He paid handsomely above the price I quoted him. Said he never expected you’d be able to rescue the sixth one, being so badly damaged and all.’
Daniel felt his hands turn to ice. ‘The sixth one?’
‘Aye, I found it on your easel in the basement. You did a fine job. Apart from the aged canvas, it looks as fresh as the other five. A remarkable piece of restoration. I congratulate you. A partnership is definitely in your future, lad.’
Daniel almost staggered under the heavy hand placed on his shoulder, his thoughts were in turmoil.
Holy Mother, what do I do? Mr Plews badly needs the money to pay our accounts. The owner is delighted with the work and he believes all six are by the same hand. I meant no harm. Must I expose myself?
Daniel heard the grandfather clock’s seventh chime. He heard himself say, ‘I am delighted to have earned your approval, Sir.’
The reappearance of Saranna carrying a double-layered birthday cake with sixty flaming candles enhanced the mood of celebration. But when Daniel saw unmistakable love shining in Saranna’s eyes his head ached. He knew what was expected of him. Marriage.
• • •
As summer drew to a close, Daniel’s anxiety increased. Although he had given no direct sign of his intentions toward Saranna, he now regularly shared the family’s church pew.
In public his manner to her was ever gentle and respectful but inwardly he felt confused. It was clear that Saranna saw him as a hero from one of the romantic novels she read. It was also clear that she longed for a declaration of his love.
That morning seated beside her in church, he saw her gloved hand move discreetly to the space between them – an unspoken invitation for him to hold her hand. Instead, Daniel folded his arms and tried to concentrate on the sermon. When the old vicar quoted the Apostle Paul’s warnings about chastity and marriage, the words seemed to leap out at Daniel.
‘… it is good for a man not to touch a woman. Nevertheless to avoid fornication, let every man have his own wife … I say therefore to the unmarried … if they cannot contain, let them marry, for it is better to marry than to burn!’
From the corner of his eye Daniel saw that Saranna was blushing.
Daniel caught his breath. Marriage to Saranna would secure my future as an artist. Why do I hesitate to press my advantage? When I first met her I burned to paint her. I’m flattered by her adoration – no one in my whole life ever loved me. But is that enough? Could I face spending the rest of my life with her?
After the service Aunt Georgina took matters into her own hands. Daniel was to escort Saranna home – the first time they would be together without a chaperone. Daniel seized the chance to take a detour along the towpath beside the canal. When they reached the Bridge of Sighs he only half listened to Saranna’s tales of condemned prisoners who had crossed the bridge from Northgate prison to St John’s Chapel for final absolution. He caught her by surprise when he said, ‘You realise, don’t you, Saranna, that if I marry I can record no father’s name in the church register. The whole world will know what you know. I am a bastard.’
Saranna looked so flustered, so pathetic to have her fear thrust out in the open, that Daniel felt a rush of anger.
‘I thought as much. The rules of society mean everything to you but you might as well accept that they mean precious little to me. I’ll make my own name.’
Before she could deny her embarrassment, Daniel decided to test himself.
He pressed her hard against the stone wall. His kiss was rough and determined – the first time he had ever kissed a girl. He needed to explore the sensation. That it clearly excited Saranna gave him a pleasant sense of power.
She hastily withdrew at the approach of a middle-aged couple who wore identical expressions of disapproval.
Saranna was breathless. ‘Oh Daniel, does your kiss mean that we are—?’
‘It simply means I kissed you! Great artists aren’t bound by conventional moral codes. And I intend to be great. Art will always be my mistress. An artist’s wife must accept that.’
He strode off leaving Saranna to follow meekly at his heels. She caught at his sleeve. ‘I promise to respect your mistress if you want me for your wife.’
Daniel nodded but he was not sure if he had won or lost.
• • •
The largest art exhibition Daniel had ever seen was crowded with families on a guided tour. As a sop to his pride Saranna had paid their entrance fees. He was aware of her trailing behind him, more absorbed in him than the paintings.
Suddenly Daniel stopped, transfixed by an oil painting of a near naked girl with long brown hair, kneeling with her arms raised to the sky in supplication. It’s her face!
‘Clytie painted by Thomas Linton Hayes. The year before my birth!’
Saranna’s gloved hand flew to her mouth. ‘The same initials as your mother’s portrait! The program says he died ten years ago.’
Daniel sank to his knees, his eyes glassy with tears. Saranna turned chalk-white with embarrassment but Daniel did not give a damn who saw him as he drank in the portrait.
‘Just look at her. Clytie. Sensual yet innocent. My mother was brave enough to pose for an artist just as God made her.’ He turned to his fiancée with a tone of mild contempt. ‘Are you, Saranna?’ He gave a wry smile when he saw her confused expression and he strode off, content that he had made his point. If I marry you, little mouse, it will have to be on my terms.
• • •
The clock struck midday as Daniel hurried back to the gallery from the bank. He felt a growing sense of trepidation about his approaching wedding day, 15 July. He waited for a cart that lumbered across his path and then he froze at what he could see through the gallery’s window.
Like a mime performer in a dumb show, Maynard Plews was gesturing with uncharacteristic agitation to two police constables.
Daniel’s first instinct was to flee. His second instinct was to bluff it out. If there were suspicions about the sixth landscape painting what proof could they have? He had burned the ruined original and put the ashes in the garbage pail.
Maynard Plews caught sight of him. And then the die was cast when the two constables also turned to look at him.
‘Is anything the matter, Mr Plews? Can I help in any way?’ he asked politely as he stepped inside the gallery.
The older officer answered. ‘Aye, if you be Daniel Browne.’
Daniel swallowed. ‘That I am, Sir.’
‘Then you’ll come down to the station and answer our questions. According to an art expert a painting restored at this gallery is a fake. He claims that your employer knew it was when he accepted payment.’
Maynard Plews quickly blocked Daniel’s reply. ‘My apprentice has naught to do with this unfortunate mistake. I will make amends.’
Daniel felt shamed by his master’s attempts to prevent him from being taken into custody.
Escorted from the gallery behind the ashen-faced Maynard Plews, Daniel glimpsed Saranna’s horrified look as she cowered in a doorway. A motley crowd milled around enjoying the arrest of a respectable citizen.
‘No! There must be some mistake!’ Saranna cried.
Maynard Plews looked defeated. ‘Tell your aunt to contact my lawyer, child.’
Saranna ran beside Daniel and whispered, ‘Tell me this isn’t true!’
Overcome by despair he said nothing, losing sight of her in the crowd.
• • •
At their trial at the assizes Daniel stood beside Maynard Plews in the prisoner’s dock. He searched the spectators’ faces until he saw Saranna supporting her aunt at the rear of the court. The fear in their eyes made him think of animals ready for the slaughterhouse.
In contrast Maynard Plews’s gaze was fixed resolutely on the magistrate. He refused to look in the direction of his family, even when he entered his plea – guilty.
Maynard Plews was accused of committing an act of major fraud in which Daniel had knowingly acted under his employer’s instructions. Despite his master’s protestations that his apprentice had not been involved in the mistake his words fell on deaf ears.
When the old man was sentenced to transportation to the penal colony of New South Wales for the term of fourteen years, Daniel felt sure these words sounded his own death knell. He began to shake when the magistrate looked directly at him.
‘Daniel Thomas Browne, the court has taken into account your youth. Therefore you are to be transported to the said colony for the term of seven years.’
Above the courtroom clamour Daniel heard a girl’s thin voice cry out, ‘Daniel! I promise I’ll find a way to join you!’
Over the heads of the crowd Daniel saw Saranna. She was being hushed by her aunt. Suddenly aware of the people staring at her, Saranna hung her head, mortified by her outburst.
Daniel turned away. How much courage can you expect from a mouse?
• • •
Fog blanketed the roadway. Dark fragments of trees pierced the fog and the distant mooing of a cow told Daniel that they were being marched along a deserted stretch of road outside Chester.
He was shackled to a line of prisoners headed for some rotting prison hulk on the Thames. He knew his master was struggling somewhere behind him because he could hear the sounds of his hacking cough – the trial had aged him overnight. Daniel avoided the old man’s eyes, knowing he had protected Daniel although fully aware of his guilt. Daniel tried to convince himself his own role in the crime was accidental, but he felt a wave of shame that his silence had betrayed Maynard Plews and Saranna. His cowardice had changed all their lives forever.
Despite Saranna’s outburst in court she had not visited him or her father in gaol. Daniel suspected she had not even tried, afraid some respectable person might recognise her.
He was grimly aware of the irony of the date – 15 July was his intended wedding day. Gnawing hunger was uppermost in his mind. For days he had barely had enough rations to exist and he was hungry enough to eat his shoe leather – except that his boots had been stolen. The pair he was wearing he had stripped from the corpse of an elderly prisoner.
Marching in line his fellow prisoners looked devoid of hope. Their ragged garments would be scant protection against the winter to come. A single rebellious soul sang a bawdy song as if he were setting off on holiday.
The swirling fog was so thick Daniel wondered if it was an illusion when he saw a lone figure by the roadside. The hood of her blue cloak concealed all but her eyes.
He knew she was real when he heard Maynard Plews call out, ‘Go home, lass. Forget me. I’m dead to thee!’
Daniel met Saranna’s eyes and saw her cowered expression. She turned away and disappeared into the fog.
His shackles forced him to go on, his mind filled with the agony of a single thought. Our Lady, help me! How can I survive for seven years if I can’t paint?