Edward Marston: The Painted Lady

‘Oh!’ said Henry, seeing Bale for the first time and frowning with candid dislike. ‘Yes, I’ve met your tame Puritan once too often.’

‘Learn from his example and lead a cleaner life.’

‘I’d die of boredom!’

‘There’s nothing boring about my life, Mr Redmayne,’ said Bale, staunchly. ‘It’s full of interest. Unlike some, I do an honest job.’

‘Why, so do I,’ retorted Henry, stung by the insinuation, ‘so you can take that note of criticism out of your voice. I work at the Navy Office and serve my country accordingly. I venture to suggest that I contribute more to the safety of the nation than someone who merely arrests a few drunkards and stops an occasional tavern brawl.’

‘You forget something, Henry,’ said his brother. ‘There was a time when you and Jonathan were colleagues. You might victual the ships but he helped to build them, and that’s a much more difficult proposition. See here,’ he continued, standing back to reveal the model on the table behind him, ‘this is an example of his work. Jonathan is still a master carpenter.’

Henry was impressed. ‘ You made this, Bale?’

‘At your brother’s instruction,’ said the other.

‘Then I congratulate you. That house is fit to stand in any street in Paris. If I’m not mistaken,’ he said, excitedly, ‘what you have brought to life is the London residence commissioned by none other than that greasy Frenchman, Jean-Paul Villemot.’ He leaned over the model to inspect it. ‘Is that not so?’

‘I believe it is, Mr Redmayne.’

‘Then this is a happy coincidence because it’s the very matter I came to discuss with Christopher.’ He turned to bestow a meaningful smile on the constable. ‘Good day to you, Bale.’

‘And to you, sir.’

After a round of farewells, Bale took his leave, even though he was pressed by Christopher to stay. When he had seen his friend out, the architect came back into his study. Henry had crouched down so that he could peer through the front door of the model.

‘You had no right to put Jonathan to flight like that,’ said Christopher, sharply. ‘He was here as my guest.’

‘That gloomy face of his makes me shiver.’

‘He’s a friend of mine.’

Henry stood up to face him. ‘Since when has a friend taken precedence over your own flesh and blood?’ he said, irritably. ‘I’m your brother, Christopher.’

‘I have regretted the fact many times.’

‘Do not jest with me.’

‘I speak in earnest, Henry, as you well know.’

‘Put my past mistakes aside,’ said the other. ‘I’m aware of my faults and I’ve done everything in my power to address them. What you see before you is a new, reformed, reclaimed, utterly responsible Henry Redmayne.’ He spread his arms. ‘What think you of him?’

‘That he looks horribly like the same old reprobate.’

‘The change is within me, Christopher. It’s not yet visible to the naked eye. But it will be, it will be. I have renounced sin.’

‘You’ll tell me next that the Thames has renounced water.’

Henry laughed. ‘You are right to be cynical,’ he conceded. ‘I have wandered too readily from the straight and narrow until now. I own it and I condemn it. Henceforth, I’ll mend my ways.’

‘How many times have I heard you say that?’

‘This time, I mean it, Christopher.’

His brother was sceptical. ‘To what do we owe this miraculous transformation?’ he asked, wearily.

‘To the only thing that matters in this world — to love, a love so deep and all-embracing that it’s brought me to my senses. I’ve met her at last. I’ve seen the woman I wish to marry, the divine creature I intend to worship for the rest of my days. And you, my dear brother,’ he added, waving a hand at the model, ‘are in a position to help me win her love. Who commissioned this house?’

‘You guessed aright — Jean-Paul Villemot, the artist.’

‘So you will be in constant discussion with him.’

‘Naturally,’ said Christopher. ‘I intend to take this model across to him tomorrow morning.’

Henry quivered all over. ‘Then she will be there.’

‘Who?’

‘The lady I adore, my wife-to-be.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘Destiny.’

‘Ah,’ said Christopher with growing suspicion. ‘I’ve heard you talk of destiny before and it always brings disaster in its wake.’

‘Not this time,’ insisted Henry. ‘All I need is a little assistance from my brother and my destiny will be fulfilled. Play Cupid for me, I beg you. Bear letters to the lady and contrive a moment when I may speak to her alone.’ He tapped the miniature house. ‘Distract the artist with one model and leave the other one — namely her — to me. Chance has contrived more than I could have dared hope. You are my bridge to Paradise. Help me now and you will one day welcome Araminta as your dear sister-in-law.’

‘Araminta?’

‘Araminta Jewell. Villemot is engaged to paint her portrait.’

‘I do not know the lady.’

‘Then you have never looked upon perfection.’

‘Indeed, I have,’ said Christopher, thinking of Susan Cheever.

‘Araminta is a Jewell by name, and a jewel by nature. I’m consumed with passion for her. She must be mine.’

‘Then find someone else to be your pander for I’ll not take on the office. My only business with Monsieur Villemot concerns the new house he asked me to design.’

‘Could you not oblige your brother in the process?’

‘No, Henry, I could not. Let’s hear no more of Araminta Jewell.’

‘Culthorpe,’ corrected the other.

‘What?’

‘She was tricked into marriage by Sir Martin Culthorpe.’

Christopher was aghast. ‘You want me to ease you into the bedchamber of someone else’s wife?’ he demanded. ‘Even by your low standards, that’s a revolting suggestion. How could you even ask such a thing of me?’

‘Her marriage was a grotesque error.’

‘If it took her out of your reach, I’d say that it was a tactical triumph. What can you be thinking about, Henry? Do you really mean to pin your hopes of happiness on such a patent impossibility?’

‘ Amor vincit omnia ,’ declaimed Henry, groping for the only Latin tag he could remember. ‘Love conquers all. Araminta wants me, needs me and yearns for me. The fact that she is at present encumbered with a husband is but a disagreeable irrelevance. She’s mine, Christopher,’ he asserted, a hand to his heart, ‘and I call upon you, as a brother, to smooth the path of true love.’

‘The lady and her husband have already found it.’

‘You refuse my request?’

‘It would be ignoble of me even to consider it,’ said Christopher with vehemence. ‘She is protected by the bonds of holy matrimony. You meddle with those at your peril.’

Henry crossed to the door. ‘Then I’ll do so alone,’ he said, huffily. ‘Since you have failed me, I’ll achieve my ends without your help. Come what may, I’m determined to have her — and a dozen husbands will not stand in my way.’

Sweeping out with a theatrical flourish, he slammed the door.

Christopher groaned. There was trouble ahead.

Traffic was heavy in the Strand that morning but the carriage rumbled along at a steady speed. Inside the vehicle, Sir Martin Culthorpe was too busy giving instructions to his wife to notice the endless series of coaches, carts, barrows, riders and pedestrians that went past. Lady Culthorpe sat beside her husband and listened patiently.

‘Be polite but not too forward,’ he told her.

‘No, husband.’

‘Do not, on any account, discuss any domestic matters.’