Free The Painter's Apprentice by Charlotte Betts

bewilderment.
    ‘I
have
to take this opportunity. If I don’t, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering. Surely you can see that?’ His face was wretched.
    There was a hubbub of questions and tears but at the end of it Beth was resigned to letting Kit go. She no longer had any
     doubt in her mind that he would never be happy to remain at home and it was fruitless to attempt to persuade him. She went
     to sleep that night wishing with all her heart that Noah had never come to Merryfields.

Chapter 7
    Two days later, supper was being served when a visitor arrived. Emmanuel opened the gates to allow a powerful grey stallion
     to clatter into the courtyard and then Joseph came to whisper in William’s ear.
    William wiped his fingers on his napkin and stood up. ‘Susannah, my dear, will you come with me, please?’
    ‘W-w-what do you think has happened, Beth?’ asked John.
    Beth shook her head, still too dejected at the thought of losing Kit to speculate.
    William and Susannah were closeted in the parlour with the stranger for some time before Sara was sent for to take in a jug
     of claret.
    Considerably later on, Susannah emerged, her face a little flushed. ‘It’s too late for our visitor to return home tonight.
     Beth, will you speak to Peg and have the best bedchamber prepared? Oh, and ask Emmanuel to set the fire straight away.’
    ‘Who is it who has come to visit?’ asked Cecily, round eyed with questions.
    ‘I can’t say at present.’ Susannah looked around her distractedly. ‘Oversee the servants, will you, Beth? Oh, and see old
     Nelly Byrne to bed. I don’t want her wandering around in her nightshift tonight.’
    ‘Of course, Mama.’
    ‘Well!’ said Cecily, after her mother had left. ‘Whoever can it be?’
    But the visitor remained behind closed doors with William and Susannah until everyone had gone to bed.

    Early the following morning, Beth was surprised to find the studio deserted. Perhaps Johannes had managed to sleep after all.
     She picked up one of her previous day’s sketches of an oak leaf and took it to the window to study it more carefully. Fading
     from yellow to buff, it was spotted with black mould; not a pretty painting but a faithful representation. A sudden draught
     whisked the paper from her fingers and sent it spiralling to the floor. When she bent to pick it up she caught her breath
     as a sturdy pair of men’s boots strode into her line of vision.
    ‘Allow me!’ The voice was deep and authoritative. A middle-aged man with bushy eyebrows and his own greying brown hair falling
     to his shoulders stood before her.
    Beth took the proffered painting from his outstretched hand, her fingers trembling a little.
    ‘Forgive me if I startled you. Henry Compton, at your service.’ He smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling in his weather-beaten
     face.
    Beth curtsyed. ‘Beth Ambrose, sir.’
    ‘I came to visit Dr Ambrose last night and our talks were more prolonged than I had expected.’
    ‘Dr Ambrose is my father.’
    ‘It seems we are both early risers. I thought I’d take a look at the garden before the rest of the household awakes but my
     attention was caught by the magnificent seascape in the gallery. The artist has a great deal of talent.’
    ‘He is one of our guests. His name is Johannes van de Vyver.’
    Henry Compton’s gaze took in the other canvases before it fell on Beth’s botanical paintings displayed on the wall opposite
     the window. ‘The seascape is magnificent, of course, but these are more to my own taste. Johannes van de Vyver is proficient
     in such different styles.’
    ‘Oh no, those are my paintings. Johannes is my painting master.’
    With a sharply enquiring glance as if to check the truth of her statement, Compton moved to her hellebore and the foxglove
     more closely. ‘He has trained you well. I congratulate you.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘I have a notion to look at your excellent garden before the whole world arises,’ said Compton.