Townsend is less worried about selling the paintings than she is making a name for herself. Fame is her ambition, not fortune. Her family is appallingly wealthy, and they indulge her.”
How splendid it must be to have a doting family and the money to do anything one pleases. “I don’t have much time, as you know. My day out, I am afraid, is already spoken for.”
Cynthia understood why. Thursdays, my one full day off, were reserved entirely for my daughter.
“That is no trouble, Mrs. H. Miss Townsend wants to come down to the kitchen, to sit and make sketches. She doesn’t expect you to pose or anything like that. You and Tess are to go about your business, she says, and she will be a mouse in the corner with a sketchbook.”
I glanced at the nearest corner, which was filled with a coal bucket, shelves of crockery and copper kettles, brooms, and empty crates waiting to be returned to the market.
“It will be cramped, hot, and dirty,” I warned. “A lady will never be comfortable here.”
“Miss Townsend is quite sturdy. The stories she tells me of places she’s lived and things she’s done in pursuit of her art would make your skin prickle. It did mine.” Cynthia rubbed her arms as though feeling the prickle still. “If it is too much trouble for you, I’ll put her off.”
Cynthia was a kindhearted young woman. Most ladies of the house would simply lead said artist downstairs and tell them to have at it, without bothering about inconvenience to the staff. Cynthia had paused to give consideration to us.
Also, Cynthia and I had become close in the year that I’d worked in this house, far closer than her aunt was comfortable with. Cynthia thought nothing of coming downstairs to sit in the kitchen while I worked, talking of whatever was on her mind. I was also privy to her comings and goings that her aunt and uncle knew nothing of, and I often let her into the house through the scullery long after she was supposed to have been abed.
“I admit curiosity,” I said. “I still cannot imagine any interest in pictures of a cook or a kitchen, but as long as she stays out of the way . . .”
Cynthia leapt to her feet, all smiles. “You’re a brick, Mrs. H. She’ll be thrilled to bits. But quiet.” She raised her hands. “Very quiet and unobtrusive. Besides, having Miss Townsend here might distract Auntie from her zeal in trying to marry me off.”
“Has she started again?” I asked companionably.
Cynthia gave an inelegant snort. “She has never left off. The fits do ebb but never go away entirely. I sometimes think I should elope with a roué and stymie her efforts.” She sighed. “But then, I’d be shackled to a roué, which I can’t imagine would be an improvement on my lot now.”
“A lady must choose her husband carefully,” I agreed.
“I wish a lady didn’t have to bother with a husband at all. Miss Townsend is fiercely unmarried. Perhaps I will emulate her.”
But Miss Townsend had money and a family who did not mind what she did. A very different situation from a penniless young woman whose parents and aunt found her an inconvenience.
I could see that Cynthia understood this as well. She made a wry face, gave me a wave, and headed for the door. “Thanks for the trouble, Mrs. H. Tess.” She left the kitchen with her usual rapid stride, and disappeared toward the back stairs.
“Fancy, I might be in a picture hanging high on someone’s wall.” Tess grinned, her knife flying over the carrots. “Won’t my friends laugh?”
“Miss Townsend might decide not to use our faces at all,” I said. “Or we’ll be so small no one will recognize us.”
Tess was not bothered. She continued with the carrots, humming a merry tune.
I did hope Miss Townsend did not make us recognizable. I could not imagine the embarrassment of appearing in a painting, no matter how innocuous that painting might be. I preferred anonymity and moving through life in a calm and peaceful manner. Much more comfortable all around.
* * *
* * *
Not until we’d caught up from the frenzy of breakfast and preparations for the midday meal did I have the chance to speak to Elsie. I moved to the scullery where Elsie clattered pans and dishes in her sink, singing with her usual off-key vigor.
I waited until she spied me in the doorway, not wishing to speak abruptly and