The bewildering Fairweather family—so slapdash yet so glamorous—only reinforced the contrasts.
It seemed that carelessness in everything (whether pretended or real, it did not matter) was a requisite.And Pip was not careless.He was restless and hungry, and he cared too much.
To feel deeply was, he learned, the one badge of peasantry he could never remove.
Pip read the letter again, picking at the scab.
What if the informant really did know something about Pip’s father?What if he met this fellow in Skipton, and there, over a pint in the pub, heard his gossip about the squire’s son and the housemaid?
Would that make anything about his life better?
Una had promised to help him find out the truth, but she’d forgotten him as soon as Violet had turned up.
When it came down to brass tacks, Una was just as happy as the rest of them for Pip to survive on whatever scraps they happened to toss at him.The menagerie, her sister…these would always be more important to her.
And what was the project upon which he was occupied at this very moment?Was it anything more than a bone thrown to the dog under the table to stop it whining?
“How are things coming along?”It was the squire.“Is there anything you need?”
“Thank you, sir,” said Pip.“I have everything I need for now.”
But nothing I want,he added silently.
Sir George came into the room, looking up at the exposed remains of the frescoes on the wall of the Great Hall.
“Can you tell me about the fresco, Philip?”the squire asked, sitting down on the oak settle.
Pip took a step backwards to better point out the features.“Of course.They would have used lime plaster first—easy enough to come by in Ormdale—then what’s called thearricciolayer.Then you make thecartoon.That’s a big drawing, done to scale, used for tracing out the major points of the design on the wall, to keep the scheme intact.Later, the details would have been filled in, when theintonacolayer is done.I can make out most of it pretty clearly.For instance, this bit“ —Pip gestured to some abbreviated figures of monks in a procession, carrying the very reliquary that contained the Saint George artefact— “the monks’ feet are missing, but it’s easy enough to see what would have gone there, and I can look at other pictures from the same era for the style of shoes.”Pip passed on to the blank section between the procession and the figure of the abbot on his throne.“It’s a shame we don’t have any description of the bit that’s gone.”
“I’ve often wondered about it myself,” Sir George agreed.“And why did it disappear, when the rest remains?”His brow wrinkled.“Do you think it may have been defaced?”
“My theory is, they had several artists working on it, and the one who did this section wasn’t as careful about his technique.”Despite himself, Pip was beginning to enjoy explaining all of it to Sir George, who listened with such gratifying interest and understanding.“You have to work in small sections, you see, with theintonaco, because the layer has to still be wet while you paint on it.Otherwise it won’t last as long.This artist might even have used a different technique entirely, a dry one, which doesn’t give you the same vibrancy of colour or the longevity as the wet technique.”
“How very fascinating,” Sir George said.“But I suppose the question that interests me even more is—what willyoudo, Philip?”
“I beg your pardon?”Pip asked, taken aback.
“What will you do with the blank part?The space that has been left to you?”
“To me?I—do you mean—“ Ideas began to fly at him, and he held them back with difficulty.“I assumed, sir, that you would give me the subject, and I would fill it in a style as close to the original as possible.”
“Oh, I see!”said Sir George.“I’m sorry I didn’t make it quite clear to you before.Emily and I have the deepest faith in your artistic gifts, Pip.And who could understand the history of Ormdale better than you?You have spent more of your life here than I have, after all.I’m quite satisfied to leave it with you.”
Pip felt hungry of spirit most of the time, but now he felt a delicious anticipation, as if the blank space on the wall was a feast laid out for him.It wasn’t the empty ache he usually felt—it was an eager anticipation of glory.
He took a slow breath.
“I’ll think very carefully about it, Sir George,” he said quietly.
After Sir George left, Pip got out a cigarette, lit it, took the letter from his pocket, and set it on fire.When the last ashy part of the letter fell to the stone floor, he ground it under his heel.
Then he wrote up a list of pigments he would need to complete the historic Wormwood Abbey fresco.
Chapter thirty-one
Ormdale
Itwasaquarterof an hour until dinner, and Una was thoroughly ready.After spending the rest of the day showing Mr Anderson the menagerie, she had bathed, dressed in her shell pink dinner dress trimmed with lace, and threaded a ribbon through the airy puffs in which she had arranged her hair.She knew it made her appear young and defenceless, but the day had been an exacting one, and she longed to allow herself to be soft and fragile.It might prove to be a miscalculation; she still had the family dinner to get through, when everyone’s simple joy at Violet’s homecoming would be on full display.
