Keeping the Castle - By Patrice Kindl Page 0,45

Fredericks.

“Look here, Fredericks,” protested Lord Boring. “I’d be pleased to have it done in York. Why the long journey for a small job? And I see no reason to wait—it appears to be dry already.”

“You are exhibiting your ignorance, Boring. You’d push this small miracle of a painting anyhow into your saddlebag and expect it to survive unharmed, wouldn’t you? No, sorry, but the matter is settled.” And Mr. Fredericks turned his back upon his employer and the head of his family and walked away.

I released a small hiss of annoyance. Mr. Fredericks, who had settled in a chair to my right, looked at me. “Yes, Miss Crawley?” he enquired.

I did not wish to explain that I had rather Lord Boring undertook the commission so that I would have occasion to consult with him about it. I therefore addressed another cause for irritation. “You were not half so solicitous about the paintings of Crooked Castle,” I murmured.

His eyebrows lifted. “Ah. I see. I thought you knew. I suppose it was your father who sold the originals. They are all copies, all but the little Stubbs. I thought so when I handled them, and the man I had up to clean them concurred.”

I sat back in my chair, absorbing this blow. I had counted on being able to sell the portraits some day if the wolves began to howl too loudly at the door.

Mr. Fredericks studied me with an expression in his eyes that I was afraid might be compassion. “There is always the Stubbs,” he said.

“Oh, no! I could not bear to part with that,” I replied, looking down at Fido in my lap. He nodded, understanding my reason.

I thought of him saying, “I hate to see things poorly made, cheap copies of good pieces and so on,” and I began to wonder. “The tapestries . . . ?”

“The one you are working on is the only one worth the effort of repairing,” he said promptly. “Have you ever heard of a Jacquard loom? Ingenious invention—uses punch cards to speed up the process. Yes, they’re copies, all the rest of them. Must have been done when you were a child.”

I bit my lip, remembering the long-ago days when Papa was still alive. I had been too young to understand how strange it was that, though so careful about money as a general rule, he would send first the portraits and then the tapestries away to be “cleaned.” And I remembered now how, when they had come back, they had looked so bright and new. They looked that way because they were new.

The tapestries could not be relied upon as a source of income in a pinch either. Very well.

I reverted to the original subject. “But why London?” I asked. “Could not a craftsman fit it with a frame in York as Lord Boring suggested?”

He smiled. “I have been giving some thought to your remark about the conditions under which Miss Vincy could exhibit the painting without opposition.”

“Oh,” I said. “And you . . . do you understand my meaning?”

“I believe I do,” he replied. “Since Miss Vincy cannot bear to deceive her mother, I propose to do so. I will submit it to the committee as soon as it is framed.”

“I see,” I said, exasperated. But I could not explain, as the matter was delicate. At that moment Lord Boring called me to duplicate the pose in the painting, so that he could compare the two, and I had no opportunity to make myself clearer.

13

RELEASED FROM MY DUTIES to Art, I found the Baron almost pathetically grateful to be called away from Charity’s side. The next day when Miss Vincy and the gentlemen from Gudgeon Park came to call, I chose a moment when Charity was out of the room to suggest that I was in need of a brisk walk over the moors after so much long sitting. I said that I believed Miss Vincy would likewise benefit from the same exercise. She agreed, tho’ with a smile and an affectionate shake of the head—she had after all walked here from the Park only a few moments before.

Lord Boring quickly volunteered to accompany us and Mr. Fredericks followed suit. Prudence, who disliked exercise, declined to join us, as did my mother, who preferred to remain at home with Alexander. On hearing Mama’s declaration, the Marquis elected to stay and keep her company. By unspoken agreement we went quickly and quietly, only slackening our pace when we had left the