‘What is the matter? Don’t you like it?’
‘I’m just used to seeing you as a boy. I have never looked upon you like this . . . as a man.’
Drake left the stew and joined her.
‘She painted me?’
‘You have not seen it?’
‘No.’
His mother showed him. Miss Evelyn had captured his likeness in minute detail. He was digging, with a focused look upon his face and each muscle taut with tension. His sleeves were rolled up exposing skin tanned from the sun and scattered with fine dark hair. His brow was furrowed, his unruly hair as black as coal with a similar sheen. Yet, at his feet sat a squirrel indicating that despite the predatory nature of humans, an animal recognised his kindness and felt safe enough to stay and watch.
‘How old is Miss Evelyn?’ his mother asked.
He shrugged, pretending he didn’t know for sure. ‘About fourteen, no more.’
‘Did you sit for her?’
‘No.’
‘She painted this from memory?’
‘She must have.’
His mother fell quiet as Drake busied himself sorting his study notes that were, in truth, already in order.
His mother looked up. ‘She may be fourteen but she is becoming a woman.’
He didn’t like where this was going. They were friends, no more. Not even friends really. ‘No, she’s a girl.’
‘Yes she is, Drake,’ his mother replied calmly. ‘She looks at you with the eyes of a young woman. She has painted you as a man.’
Drake felt his cheeks burn. ‘I am one. I’m fifteen now.’
‘You are right. You are growing up before my very eyes.’ His mother’s gaze returned to the painting. ‘All the more reason for you to mind yourself, Drake. Your apprenticeship with Mr Timmins is too important to risk for an infatuation of a girl you can never have a future with.’
‘You are reading too much into it, Mother. She is a good painter and she was just as happy for you to have it as me.’ He felt embarrassed. Speaking of such things with his mother did not come naturally. ‘Besides, what would you know of infatuation?’
His mother gave him a reproachful glare for his sharp retort.
Drake felt a stab of guilt. After all, her warning had been kindly meant. ‘I’m sorry. I promise I won’t risk my apprenticeship,’ he replied more gently. ‘You have nothing to fear. It’s a painting. Do not read more into it. I do not.’ He didn’t want to talk about Evelyn with his mother any more. He didn’t know why, he just didn’t. ‘Besides,’ he added quietly, ‘I see no reason for us to speak again so there is no need for you to worry.’ Strangely, the thought saddened him.
* * *
Evelyn’s fingers itched to play something more jovial, but Miss Brown thought it more fitting, given Master Nicholas’s illness, to learn a sombre melody for her piano lesson. The lesson went well, and as a reward Evelyn was allowed to have her wish and play one short jovial tune. It was in the midst of this that her mother came into the room. Evelyn froze, her fingers curled in play. Her mother rarely came to the nursery to see her.She looked tired and pale, as her eyes flicked nervously about the room yet never settling on Evelyn.
‘You can visit Nicholas now.’
Evelyn looked at her governess, unsure what this meant. Was Nicholas better? From the sadness in her mother’s eyes, it did not appear so. She saw the same sorrow in Miss Brown’s. Obediently, Evelyn silently got up from the piano and left the room. Her mother did not follow.
It did not take long for Evelyn to reach her brother’s room. The nurse discreetly left as she approached the open door. Her departure substantiated Evelyn’s growing suspicion that Nicholas had asked to see her. Evelyn entered, satisfied that she would no longer be banned from his company. They had all been wrong. Shewasneeded to aid his recovery after all.
The heavy curtains were drawn to ward off the drafts. By his bed, a single oil lamp burned, its note-less whistle providing a comforting purr whilst its harsh white light, softened by the pink, glass shade, cast his frail body in a false healthy glow. His frail body. Her confidence drained away as she drew closer.
It had been almost a month since their walk in the snow. They had been laughing, trying not to slip on the frozen path. Now Nicholas lay quiet, no more than skin and bone, and too weak to raise his head from the pillow.
She sat down carefully in the chair beside him, unsure if she should wake him. She decided to wait and as she did so, became aware of another noise coming from somewhere in the room. It burbled and crackled, like a rhythmical rattle, and it was only when Nicholas opened his eyes and coughed, did she realise it was coming from him.
