Chapter 26: Le Roi et Mort - Vive le Roi!

It was only a few days later that news arrived from London. King George IV had died. He had never been a popular monarch, running up enormous debts, and in his last years, the cartoonists had portrayed him in very unflattering ways. Still, he was the king and parliament was dissolved upon his death. As a Peer of England, Richard had to go to London for the burial, and he left the next morning in their coach. They had decided that Ellen should stay behind with Anthony, as did Richard’s parents. Sir Anthony organised a memorial service to be held in the village church, but apart from that live went on.

The young women at Woodbridge Manor rode their horses on a daily basis, and Ellen quickly regained her trim appearance, except for her breasts which maintained their increased size. The women often stopped by the river and Melissa sketched scenes as she saw them. One day, whilst they were resting on the river bank, two swans with their young drifted by. The male swan trailed behind, and Ellen threw him some bread crumbs, enticing the big white bird to swim closer. She managed to get the animal close enough to feed it by hand, much to the amazement of her companions. Melissa sketched furiously all the while, and when the swan finally left, she looked at Ellen with an unspoken question on her face.

“What is it, Melissa?” Ellen finally asked.

“You ... you looked wonderful with that big white swan eating from your hand. I just had this idea, don’t be mad at me, it’s just an idea. Would you pose for another painting for me?”

“What kind of painting?” Ellen asked amused.

“Leda with the Swan!” Melissa exclaimed.

“But that swan will probably never come back here,” Ellen answered.

“That is all right. I have my sketches. Would you sit for me? You would have to sit, how shall I put this, with little clothing? You know the story of Leda? The swan was Zeus, and he came to Leda, and she had a child from him.”

“You want me to pose naked?” Ellen asked, and Colleen looked at the other women with an open mouth.

“Not completely,” Melissa said, blushing, “just your chest.”

“Do you have any idea how big my breasts are right now?” Ellen asked. “Besides, what would you do with such a painting?”

“Of course, I could not sell it,” Melissa admitted. “That would cause a scandal. You are too well known. I would have to keep it, or rather, give it to you.”

For the next hour, Melissa tried to talk Ellen into posing. She seemed rather obsessed with her idea, and she promised that all the sketches and the painting would be in Ellen’s possession. After a while, Ellen relented.

That evening, they rummaged through the house to find linen for a Greek style dress for Ellen, and the next morning, the three women returned to the river. Ellen took Ricky along to warn them of approaching people. Once they were at the river bank, Melissa began painting the background, a sand coloured blanket. Then Ellen had to lie down, covered only partly by the thinnest fabric they had found. With her left hand she held the fabric between her breasts, whilst her right arm was bent back behind her head. The pose showed her full breasts to advantage.

For the next six hours, Melissa painted like a woman obsessed. From time to time, Ellen could take a break whilst Melissa worked on other parts of the picture. The swan was particularly difficult, because its wing was behind Ellen, whilst its long neck and head rested between her breasts. Although she worked feverishly, Melissa could not finish the painting in one day, and they returned on the next morning to continue.

Finally, around mid-afternoon, Melissa put her brushes to the side. Ellen covered herself and came over to have a look at the painting. She held her breath when she saw it. This was not a typical mythical painting, this was highly erotic. Was this really she who laid back languidly, offering herself to the swan?

“What do you think?” Melissa asked apprehensively.

“It is wondrous, yet outrageous. It is beautiful, yet scandalous. I like it, but I would die if it were seen by anyone save my husband. Can you accept that this painting may never be shown to anyone?”

Melissa nodded. She had been aware of this right from the start. For a woman of Lady Lambert’s standing, this painting could mean her social ruin.

“I shall pay for your work, Melissa,” Ellen said softly, “but then I will hide the painting until my husband has a chance to give his opinion.”

The women returned to the Manor, and Ellen carefully hid the painting in her bedroom. When Eleanor visited the next morning, she showed it to her sister in law, and Eleanor was speechless at first. Yet she was appreciative, complimenting Ellen on the way she had recovered the firmness of her body so soon after giving birth. Ellen laughed at that.

“You know, once my boobs are down in size again, I’ll feel much better. But as long as I feed Anthony, I won’t become pregnant again, and that’s nice too.”

“So you and Richard, are you doing it again?” Eleanor asked curiously.

Ellen nodded and Eleanor had another question.

“How is it, I mean, after giving birth?”

“Better than ever,” Ellen confided. “I’m a little wider now and it’s a better fit.”

Eleanor left it at that and they both rejoined the others downstairs.

Richard returned a week later, having attended the King’s burial and the deliberations in the Lords. The Duke of Clarence would ascend to the throne as William IV., and many of the Lords believed him to be a better king, less extravagant and more open to reason.

On his first evening back, Ellen showed Richard the painting, and he was at a loss for words at first. Ellen watched him whilst different emotions passed over his features. His first words, however, set her at ease.

“God, Ellen, you are so beautiful! Melissa really can bring out your looks. But where can we hang this?”

“You like it?” Ellen asked, a relieved smile on her face. “You are not angry that I consented to pose for her?”

“Yes, it is risque, but also wonderful. Perhaps we can hang it in the private study in the town house?”

“You want to ogle me in private?” Ellen grinned.

“I want that view all for myself,” Richard admitted with an equal grin. “Do I have to reimburse Melissa?”

“I already did, Richard. I thought of it as a gift for you.”

Richard laughed. “Who would have thought that you would become a patroness of the arts? I am sorry, but out here in the country, I still see you as my beautiful shepherdess.”

Ellen smiled back at her husband. “I like that.” Then an idea struck her. “My cloak and hat should still be at your parents’ house. What if I have Melissa paint me as shepherdess? Would you like that?”

It was obvious at once that Richard was all for it, for his eyes were lighting up.

“I would love that. Let us commission the painting this time. Melissa needs to earn her living, if only for her self-esteem.”

That evening, at dinner, they spoke to Melissa about the idea. Melissa asked them about the background, wanting to know more about the way they had met. By tacit agreement, Ellen and Richard left out the part about the near-rape in the barn, but they told her about Ellen’s arrival in the February rain, about her herding her sheep on the river banks, about Richard’s visits and the rescue from the Tremonts. Colleen and Melissa listened to the story with their mouths open. In the end, Melissa, with that absent look on her face the others knew already, spoke up.

“I see at least three possible tableaux. The strongest one would be of you trudging through the mud, surrounded by your sheep, under an overcast sky, symbolising the hardships. Then I see you on the river bank, in the sunshine, those sheep grazing and your dog circling them, a peaceful scene, symbolising the easy life. And then, pardon me, a scene where you look up at a horseman, your dog watchful at your side. ‘Meeting the Squire’, I would call this last scene.”

Richard and Ellen looked at each other before Richard cleared his throat.

“Let’s do all three,” he said. “What do you need?”

“I’d like to start with the languid sunshine scene, the weather is just right for it. I suppose there are sheep around here?”

Ellen looked at Richard, who nodded.

“Mr. Brown has kept them, some lads from the village look after them in turn. We shan’t need the full herd, shall we?”

The next morning, Richard rode over to High Matcham and came back with Ellen’s old clothes, her cloak and her hat. Harriet Carter’d had them washed and stored away, assuming that Ellen might reclaim them one day. The entire group of adults set out for the river bank, close to the small copse of wood where Richard had redeemed himself over four years ago. The young lad who tended the sheep was waiting there already, and Ricky was out of the coach in a flash, circling the sheep and annoying them greatly with his antics.

Sir Anthony and Harriet Carter were waiting there as well, and Nadine Blacket had also come, bringing baskets of food for a delightful picnic under the early July sun. Little Anthony slept in a crib under a chestnut tree along with Mabel’s little daughter, whilst the nurse kept a close watch over her charges, lest some gadfly, bee, or wasp might disturb them.

Under the eyes of the group, Melissa built up her easel and the wide canvas. Over the afternoon, she began with the backdrop of the river, with the willow trees lining it. The grassy banks with the sheep came next, but then the evening set in, and the young lad drove the small herd back towards High Matcham.

The next day was fine again, and the same group of people assembled on the river bank. Ellen had donned her old dress and cloak, much to the amusement of most present, and spent the early morning trying to teach Ricky a few essentials he had obviously forgotten. Then Melissa bade her sit on a moss covered fallen tree. It took almost an hour before poor Ellen sat in the precise pose Melissa had envisioned, and the young painter began her work in earnest. While the painting took shape, the other family members and guests enjoyed the beautiful day. Later they enjoyed the food Nadine Blacket had brought along, and Melissa scolded Ellen for chewing on a pastry whilst she tried to paint her face. Ellen retorted laughingly and time passed quickly over the ensuing banter.

Richard, for his part, simply lay in the grass and watched the reincarnation of Ellen Barlow, as he knew her back then. He marvelled at his good fortune, too, that this lovely creature, his wonderful wife, had by chance come to graze her sheep on his father’s lands. He thought briefly what might have happened if the girl had chosen the Tremonts’ possessions instead, and he shuddered at the thought. He also felt a pang of shame at the thought of his own actions back then. Did he really deserve the love that she gave him? His gaze fell on the crib where he knew his son to be asleep, and his emotions welled up. It did not matter whether he deserved Ellen. She was his and the sleeping infant confirmed that. Finally he decided that he was just lucky, and the thought gave him back his balance. Lucky was good as long as being lucky included being with Ellen.

Ellen seemed to pick up on his emotions and looked at him knowingly. She had an idea what was going through his mind. Similar thoughts had been on her mind over the morning. She also looked over to where Harriet Carter sat, her back against her husband’s chest, a woman at peace. Ellen knew how much she had suffered over the last years, some of it through her own, Ellen’s mistakes. She also knew that Harriet’s happiness had been earned the hard way, and she marvelled at the character of the woman and her own good luck to have her as mother in law. She also thought about her own mother, not the sick bundle of bones that she had been close to the end, but the beautiful, vivacious woman she had been before she wasted away. What would the Irish woman have thought about her daughter becoming the wife of an English Baron? Probably, she would not have cared about that, Ellen decided. She would have asked, though, whether she loved her husband. Ellen looked over again, and she met Richard’s eyes. They conveyed happiness now and love. Yes, if her mother asked, Ellen’s answer would be an unconditional ‘yes’.

Meanwhile, Colleen was listening to Sir Anthony. She knew that he was a veteran of the Battle of Trafalgar, had indeed commanded the flagship of Sir Cuthbert Collingwood during the battle, and she had begged him to recollect that day for her. Whilst writing the manuscript about Antonio’s adventures, she had gathered enough knowledge of seamanship that she could easily follow his recollections. She was astonished to learn that he had not been knighted in recognition of his service in that famous sea battle, but that knighthood had been bestowed on him earlier for a desperate ship-to-ship action in which his frigate, the same Clyde that Melissa had used as motif, had captured a much larger French ship-of-the-line. Then he told her of his earlier exploits in Haiti, his fights against pirates in the Great South Sea, and she learned about his early life with his father, his childhood in Kingston. Colleen now understood the friendship to Lucy Wilkes, née Gutteridge, and to Doña Maria.

Then Lady Carter told the story how they had first met and detested each other and how she came to fall for the young Anthony Carter. Colleen’s head whirled thinking of how rich a life they had led, how perilous and how rewarding it had been, and she understood the almost visible bond between them. She sighed inwardly, asking herself if she would ever have a bond as deep to another person. She also made notes, a habit she had acquired and would not quit, to aid her memory. She knew that she could never write the story of the Carters’ life. They were too prominent, the details too intimate, and besides, she felt too close to them. But she kept the notes.

It was in the middle of these idyllic weeks that a messenger arrived for Richard. He read the letter and his brows knitted whilst he reread it. He looked over at Ellen who was sitting at the table, putting the finishing touches to some needle work.

“They want me to go to Holland for negotiations,” he said reluctantly. “There is an issue about the trade between Dutch East India and Ceylon that needs to be resolved. I thought the treaty of ‘24 had put an end to these problems. They want me to head our delegation. I am to travel next week. I should be gone for the better part of a month, I fancy.”

Ellen swallowed. This was unexpected. Yet, he had to concede that Richard had clearly put his family before his work in the last months, and she forced herself to smile.

“That is a great distinction, Richard. Don’t worry about us. Perhaps, I should spend that time in London with your grandmother until you return. That way, I will see Lucy too.”

“You are really all right with this, Darling?”

In return, Ellen stood and walked over to him. She took his hands and pulled him up to hug him.

“I have the best husband of the world. Now I will lend him to my country for a month.”

Richard return her hug with feeling.

“I am truly blessed with you, Ellen. It is a pity that you cannot come with me. Amsterdam is supposed to be a beautiful and rich city that I would love for you to see.”

“Perhaps another time, Darling. With you being busy it would only be half the fun. Never worry, I shall be fine.”

Thus, two days later, they left Woodbridge Manor and returned to their London house. Old Lady Lambert was overjoyed to have her great-grandson back and Ellen settled back into her London life. Richard then left with his delegation, travelling with a Navy sloop from Dover to Amsterdam.

Meanwhile Ellen renewed the contact with her London acquaintances. First her pregnancy and then the preparations of Eleanor’s wedding had prevented her from showing herself in the salons and she was eagerly welcomed back. Of course, many of her female acquaintances found an excuse to visit her at home and see little Anthony who was growing rapidly.

A week after Richard’s departure, whilst attending a tea in Lady Wheeler’s parlour, she met a woman her own age by the name of Patricia Gainsworth, the wife of some Major Gainsworth. Somewhere in the back of her brain Ellen knew the name, but she could not place it. It was the woman herself who clarified this.

“I believe you knew my Cousin Marjorie? She spoke about you a few times, not too flatteringly, I regret to say. But then, Marjorie would always talk disparagingly about others. I must say that I find you very charming in person.”

Outwardly friendly, Ellen’s senses went on alert and she felt the hairs in her neck rise.

“That is very kind of you, Mrs. Gainsworth. Yes, your cousin seemed to have an issue with me, although I never did anything knowingly to hurt her.”

“That does not mean that we have to continue in this vein, does it?” Mrs. Gainsworth offered and Ellen gave her a friendly smile.