Oh, I have hurt his feelings, I thought, surprised.How strange, that he should care what I think when it is Lucinda’s opinion that should matter the most, and she has told him repeatedly how much she adores it.
Jane saw as well that my reply had wounded Mr Hartand hurriedly changed the subject.
‘Well, I thought it was a lovely poem, and I have read a fair few! Are there many lonely trees where you stay, Mr Hart?’
‘Around Hartmoor Castle you mean, Miss Austen?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I have a clear picture in my mind of the landscape from what you have previously described. But how many turrets did you say your castle had?’
Hah, she was pressing him for information about his castle for her book as I had thought she might. It seemed we both wanted something from Mr Hart: me, truth; her, inspiration.
‘Perhaps it would be easier if I drew it for you?’ he said, warming to the subject.
‘Ooh yes, please do!’ exclaimed Jane, and Lucinda clapped her hands excitedly.
Mr Hart smiled at their enthusiasm. ‘If I could acquire some paper and borrow a pencil, then I will happily draw you a quick sketch.’
‘There is some paper in the desk drawer. Flissy has just been using it to write a letter,’ Jane said helpfully.
‘And I have a pencil,’ said Elizabeth, producing one with a flourish from her dress pocket. She seemed to carry all manner of articles in there.
When he hadall the implements he needed, Mr Hart retired to the desk in the corner, and we waited for about fifteen minutes or so while he sketched his castle. In truth, I was not expecting much from this drawing, but the look of amazement on Elizabeth’s face when he handed it to her caused me to reconsider.
‘Why, Mr Hart, you are not only a poet but an excellent artist!’ she declared. ‘This drawing is something that I would not hesitate to frame and hang on a wall!’
‘By all means, do so if you wish to,’ he said with a little bow, and Elizabeth looked pleased as punch.
I sighed inwardly. Mr Hart had obviously added another feather to his cap by proving to be a competent sketcher. I still had not seen the drawing as I was on the opposite sofa, and Jane and Lucinda were now crowding around Elizabeth. But I was itching to look at it (without revealing to Mr Hart that I was interested, of course). He was standing behind the sofa and overseeing their reactions with a chuffed look on his face.
‘Ooh, lovely,’ said Lucinda, wide-eyed.
‘Aah, wonderful,’ murmured Jane, and I could almost see the cogs turning in her brain as she thought of how it could be used in her story.
Craning my neck to see was no longer working, and my impatience could not be contained. ‘Can I see it too?’ Iasked when the oohing and aahing had died down.
‘Of course, Flissy,’ said Jane and handed it over.
My eyebrows raised slightly upon seeing the sketch, for it was very professional. The castle Mr Hart had drawn was quite large as castles go, with a round crenellated turret at one end and a collection of smaller turrets at the other. They were joined in the middle by another crenellated structure, like a manor house, which had a portico over the entranceway. His pencil strokes were light, but confident, and he’d even done some shading to bring the grey stone to life.
‘What do you think, Mrs Fitzroy? Is it realistic enough?’ enquired Mr Hart with a touch of irony to his tone. I lifted my gaze from the sketch to discover him watching me. As he was still standing behind the sofa, I was the only one who had his full view. My cheeks coloured as he arched an eyebrow, waiting for my verdict.
I could not find fault with his sketch, and knowing I would seem petty if I did so, I had to give credit where it was due. ‘You are indeed an excellent artist as Elizabeth has said, Mr Hart. Your castle looks to be most striking.’
He nodded and said, ‘Thank you, I am glad you think so.’ But his attention lingered on me, as if he wished to further the conversation, but I most certainly did not. I lowered my eyes and silently handed the drawing backto Jane. She, after peering at it again, handed it carefully to her sister-in-law.
‘I shall visit the picture framers tomorrow,’ said Elizabeth, turning her head to smile up at Mr Hart. ‘I know the perfect spot to hang it too—in our front parlour at home, by the window.’
Jane heaved a sigh. ‘A sketch, albeit a good one, is all very well. But I do wish I could see it with my own eyes,’ she muttered. ‘Otherwise, how can one capture theatmosphereof the place?’
She was talking mostly to herself, but Mr Hart had ears like a bat. ‘Well, that is easily fixed,’ he said smoothly. ‘I am due to visit my father in a few days. You are all most welcome to join me. I will be there for around a week.’
There was a stunned silence. Then Lucinda squealed with delight, and Jane’s mouth dropped open.
Oh, no no no!I thought in alarm.Lucinda and he under the same turrets? It cannot happen! Not after what Cecilia Spencer has told me! Any number of attempts could be made by this man to ruin Lucinda in a week!
Mr Hart’s invitation caused a flurry of excited chatter, and it was difficult for me to get a word in edgeways. Lucinda was determined to go, as was Jane, but Elizabeth said she could not because of Edward. I jumped on this, appealing to Jane.
‘Elizabeth is right, Jane. We cannot up and leave Edward,’ I said.
