“Why, Nora,” he said, ‘is it time? “
“I am a little early. My watch is fast.”
He hesitated—something I had rarely seen him do before. Then he said:
“Come in.”
So I went in. On an easel stood a canvas and on a chair lay a paint-spattered jacket.
“This is my sanctum,” he told me.
“Have I intruded?”
“On the contrary, you are here on my invitation.”
“You are a painter.”
“Is that a question?”
“No. I know it.”
“Are you surprised? You did not expect me to have such talents?
Perhaps you consider I have no talent. Judge for yourself. “
He linked his arm through mine; it was the first time there had been any demonstration of affection.
“These pictures on the walls are my work,” he said.
“Then you are an artist.”
“You are not a connoisseur—that much is evident.”
“But these pictures …”
“Lack form, technique, or whatever you like to call it. They are not really very good.”
I had paused before a portrait of a woman. I thought I had seen the face before.
“Well, you like that?”
“Yes. It’s soft and gentle and the expression is … good.”
“What were you going to say before good?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps that she looked helpless, clinging, entirely feminine.”
He nodded and drew me to the next picture.
“Self-portrait.”
There he was. It was a good likeness and I guessed he was an easy subject. The mane of fair hair, the beard, the pride in the expression, and the animal quality—all these would be easy to capture in a facile way. Some of the arrogant power of the man was missing, but that was inevitable.
Then he took me to the table and showed me the canvases there. I saw it. The house. The real Whiteladies. The one Stirling and I had seen when we climbed the oak trees.
I gave an exclamation.
“That’s it,” I said.
“You went there with Stirling,” he replied.
“He told me how your scarf blew over the wall and you both went in..”
‘I suppose he tells you everything. “
“Whoever tells everything? But I know a great deal of what is in Stirling’s mind. After all, he is my son.”
“And you love him as you never loved anyone else.”
“That’s not entirely true. I am capable of affection. I don’t give it freely, but that may mean that when I do I have the more to give.”
“How could you paint that house when you have never seen it?”
“Who said I have never seen it? I have lived in that house, Nora. I know it well.”
“You lived there! It was yours! So that is why you have built one to look exactly like it.”
“What conclusions you jump to. I lived there, it is true; but I did not say that it was mine. I worked there for a year in the humble position of drawing-master to the young lady of the house. “
“And Stirling happened to discover it …”
“You are wrong again. Stirling went there because he knew the house was there. I told him to go.”
“So that was why I had to meet him in Canterbury. Miss Emily Grainger said it was a lit tie odd.”
“It was at my request that he went there.”
“You wanted to know if it had changed since you were last there.
Houses don’t change much. It’s the people living in them . “
“Ah, there you have it. I wanted him to see not so much the house but the people living in it.”
“Because you knew them long ago. He did not say so. He didn’t even tell them his name. I don’t think they asked. It was all a little odd and unconventional.”
“He would not have told them his name. That might have been unwise.”
“There was some quarrel with this family?”
He laughed bitterly, harshly. Then he said.
“I was hardly in a position to quarrel with them. I was, as I said, the young lady’s drawing-master. They were rich then. I don’t think they are so happily placed now. Times change. The old man was a gambler … and not a clever one. I believe he lost a great deal of money after my departure. “
“A fact which appears to give you some satisfaction, I gather.”
“You gather correctly. Would you not dislike someone who condemned you to exile from your own country, to seven years’ servitude in a penal settlement.”
“So it was the owner of Whiteladies!’ ” Sir Henry Dorian, no less. “
“For what reasons?”
Robbery. “
“And you were guiltless.”
“Completely so.”
“And could you not prove your innocence?”
“If I had had justice, yes. But he and his friends saw that [ had not.
I was in his house unlawfully, he said. I was in his house and not at his request, but the object of my visit was not to steal. ” He smiled at me.
“You have an enquiring mind, Nora,” he added lightly.
“I admit it. I want to hear more. I remember the place so clearly. I felt when I was there it was important to me in some way. I had no idea at that time that it was connected with my new guardian.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“A wonderful old place. How I should like to own such a house!” His eyes gleamed with covetousness.
“I have built this place—a poor imitation. No! I want the stones which were used hundreds of years before. There is only one Whiteladies and it is not this one.”
“You have a very comfortable house of the same name.”
“It’s a fake, Nora. I hate fakes.”
“It serves well.”
“It serves as a substitute until …” He stopped. Then he laughed and added, “You wheedle, Nora. You lure confidences from me. And the fact that I allow you to, shows you that I already think of you as my daughter. Now isn’t that strange? I am not a sentimental man to drool over a daughter—yet I allow you to tempt me to talk.”
“It is always good to talk. I am your ward. I have seen this house and the people there. There was the girl, Minta her name was, and there was Mamma.”
“Tell me about her. Stirling could not describe her. Women are better at that sort of thing than men.”
“Why, Mamma would be the one to whom you taught drawing!”
Me nodded.
“She was old … well, perhaps not old, but she seemed so.”
“To you she seemed old—as I do.”
“No, not you. One would not think of age in connection with you. But she seemed fretful and concerned about her health. The girl was charming. And there was someone called Lucie.”
“Fretful,” he said and laughed lightly. He indicated the canvas he had already shown me.
“Was she like this? I drew from memory.”
Then I knew of whom the picture reminded me. It was the girl Minta, of course.
“It is a little like the girl,” I said.
“But she is not so helpless looking No, the woman in the chair was not like that. Perhaps she might have been years ago.”
“Thirty-five years ago when she was seventeen. She was beautiful then, but she was not very good at drawing. I was going to marry her.”
I was beginning to understand. She was the daughter of the house in which he occupied a minor position. I thought of Jessica’s account of his arrival at Rosella Creek.
“So you went to the house to be her drawing-master and you decided to marry her. You admired the house and you would like to have been master of it.”
“I did admire the house and I should have enjoyed owning it, but in those days I was nineteen years old and sentimental. I was even romantic. You may find that hard to believe, but it was so. I fell in love with Arabella and she with me. I was egotistical. You smile. You are thinking. Yes, I can believe that! It was true. I believed myself to be as good as any man and I could not conceive that her father. Sir Henry Dorian, would not welcome me as a son-in-law. I was the drawing master it was true. I had nothing but my talents; but on the other hand I could have managed his estate as it had never been managed before. If he had not been such a fool the family might not now be reduced to … well, scarcely penury—but it must be trying to have to consider every shilling when you have a position to uphold and have been accustomed to luxury.”