Free The Painter's Apprentice by Charlotte Betts Page A

He went to look down to the
     garden. ‘There is something haunting about a garden touched with frost, don’t you think?’
    Beth stood beside him, studying the scene below. Silvery mist wreathed amongst the topiary peacocks, spheres and pyramids,
     all painted with glistening hoar frost in the opalescent early morning light. ‘My younger brother, John, says that winter
     is the true test of a garden. In warmth and sunshine, full of the sweet scent of roses and honeysuckle, it’s hard for a garden
not
to be lovely. But in the winter you can see a garden’s bones. That’s why he pays such attention to trimming the yew and the
     box trees, so that they make shapes pleasing to the eye even when there are no flowers.’
    ‘He is wise for one so young. I should like to meet him.’
    ‘Then I will accompany you to the garden. We are sure to find John in the potting shed.’
    ‘I should like that very much, Miss Ambrose.’

    Johannes was back in his accustomed place at the easel and only glanced up at Beth with a smile as she slipped into the studio
     later on.
    Several hours later her stomach rumbled with hunger. She’d been so absorbed that she’d forgotten to go down for dinner. The
     fire had died down, too and the studio was cold. She hesitated to interrupt Johannes, still bent over his easel, so she cleaned
     her brushes and went in search of a crust of bread and cheese.
    Along the gallery she heard a repeated banging coming from the open door of the best bedchamber and found Sara beating the
     bed hangings and Jennet wielding her besom behind the linen press.
    ‘Isn’t it the wrong time of the year to be spring-cleaning?’ Beth asked.
    ‘Your ma’s given the order to ready this bedchamber for an important visitor,’ said Jennet.
    ‘Who is this important visitor?’
    ‘The King himself, I shouldn’t wonder, if all the fuss is anything to go by,’ said Jennet, vigorously sweeping the dust into
     a pile. ‘It seems she’s too good to sleep in the women’s dormitory with the other guests. And we’re to make ready the little
     parlour for her private sitting room.’
    Beth trotted downstairs to find the kitchen was as hectic as a hive and full of the delicious aroma of roasting meat. Peg
     was shrouded in a cloud of flour making a pastry coffin ready for a vast pile of rabbit meat, pigs’ kidneys and carrots to
     be baked inside, while Phoebe pounded sugar and Emmanuel riddled the grate and poured coal on the fire. A leg of mutton seethed
     and spat in the cauldron and the gears of the spit clanked as a haunch of venison turned over the crackling flames.
    ‘Peg, wherever did all these supplies come from?’ asked Beth, helping herself to a fresh-baked roll. ‘I thought the butcher
     wouldn’t give us any more credit?’
    ‘The bill’s been settled by last night’s visitor. Joseph handed me a purse of gold this morning and told me not to stint on
     meals fit for a banquet.’
    ‘I don’t understand!’
    ‘Me neither.’ Peg’s mouth was set in a thin line. ‘You’d better ask your ma. I just do as I’m told. Been working here for
     nigh on twenty-two years but it’s not my business it seems.’
    Beth left Peg to her grumblings and went off to search for her mother.
    Susannah, as usual, was in the apothecary, straining lavender flowers steeped in sweet almond oil through muslin into a jar.
    Beth dipped the tip of her finger into the oil and sniffed the pungent perfume. ‘The scent of this takes me straight back
     to summer,’ she said.
    ‘I thought I’d put a little bottle in the guest room. Lavender is so helpful for headaches.’
    ‘And does our expected guest have headaches?’
    ‘Don’t we all, at difficult times? She also has a chronic defluxion of the eyes so I’ll distil some eyebright into a soothing
     eyewash for her.’
    ‘Why all the secrecy? Who’s coming?’
    Susannah pressed the lavender heads with the back of a spoon to squeeze out the last of the oil. ‘I have been