Chapter 11

Diary entry 11

Last weekend was a bank holiday so we had Monday off. Ben wanted to take me to his parents but to his disappointment, I didn't feel up to it. It was my period time and I had a rotten cold so I decided to stay at the Uni. He went home anyway and so did Penny. On Sunday morning Ben phoned and we chatted for a while until his mother took the phone from him. She seemed very concerned that I might just be toying with her son and would dump him when I found someone better. She also believed I'd stayed behind to look around for another boy. "We expected you to come here with him this weekend and we're rather disturbed and upset that you supposedly can't make it because of a cold. He's head-over-heels in love with you, or thinks he is, and he's happier than I've seen him for a long while so if you are going to leave him, try and do it gently..." I butted in and talking with my croakiest voice, explained that I really did have a rotten cold and I wasn't about to leave her son anytime soon." Eventually I think I convinced her and promised to try and make it over some other weekend.

Left on my own, the words began to flow and my typing skills could hardly keep pace with the ideas. My mind was totally engrossed by the life and problems of fictional Emily and I even missed a couple of meals to feel the pangs of hunger that I knew she would feel far worse than me. (I didn't even cheat by snacking on a packet of crisps). I know I should have done more of my coursework but I just couldn't leave this story alone and cracked on and finished it — well as far as the first draft went.

Chapter twelve. Return to the Manor

The journey to Fulham was tedious with several wrong turnings increasing the distance and several times I was accosted for money or with lecherous advances that were difficult to repel. Weary from lack of sleep for two nights and the oppressive atmosphere of the town, I was pleased to see an elderly pastor leaving a local church. Enquiring of him as to the whereabouts of Master Leonard's studio, he very kindly escorted me right into the room where Leonard was painting. Ignoring the man sitting for his portrait, ignoring the pastor, I rushed up to him and clasped him tightly around the waist.

Shedding tears of joy and relief at finding him, I begged, "Master, I know I disobeyed you and must be punished but please hear my story first." I clutched him even more tightly to me before collapsing on to the floor, exhausted. Vaguely I heard the man suggest that it was time to call a halt for the day and picked up his things and left. The pastor stayed possibly because he sensed I needed comfort but master Leonard realised that too and sat beside me until I became calm enough to tell my story.

"Emily, for you to have made the journey from Witchellden to here on your own with little or no money, tells me something went seriously wrong with my arrangements. I will certainly listen to your story but first we must take care of you and unless there is something I need to do with great urgency, I propose to take you into my room and allow you to rest and have a little food. Then you will be able to relate what happened with greater clarity." He thanked the pastor for escorting me and led me to a small room at the end of the studio. Waking hours later and somewhat refreshed with food and ale, I told of the events that caused me to travel to London.

For the longest time, Leonard sat and contemplated what I'd told him. Finally he spoke. "Emily dear." That was the first time he'd used a term of endearment to me although I'd guessed from the times in his bed, that he'd more than master/servant feelings for me. "Emily dear, please sit quietly and listen to what I have to tell you." His voice tone and expression filled me with apprehension. Was he going to send me back? "Firstly, I am not the wealthy man you believe I am. I have an income but that is barely enough to keep me and it is only when I am able to sell a painting that there is enough extra to buy clothes and to live a better lifestyle. I was able to buy you from father because I sold the portrait of the lady you watched me paint at the Manor, and from the same money, I bought your clothes. When I get paid for the painting of Sir Archibald, I will be able to live here on my own for about a month if I was careful with the money. However, I owe rent on this place so I would have to find another client or sell other paintings to buy clothes and food after about a fortnight. Living with father, I have no food or other expenses to pay for and Cook only charges me a nominal amount for your fare." Tears streamed down my face when it became clear that this was only a preamble to my being sent away but when I tried to speak he put his fingers to my lips and said, "Hear me out Emily."

"If you stay with me there are times when we would be poor, poorer even than you were on the farm but at other times there will be food in plenty. I'm quite profligate when I have money so it doesn't last long and usually by then, I head back and partake of father's hospitality until I've built up enough funds to return to my work here or I receive word of a commission. If I allow you to stay, these funds will have to stretch further because of providing you with even the bare necessities of life. No doubt you would try and curb any unnecessary spending on my part but even so, there can be long periods when we will almost have to beg for food. This was the main reason I left you at the Manor, and I thought with all the protection that was granted, you would be safe. Unfortunately that was not the case. If you stay, the sort of life you will lead will be uncertain to say the least." My tears stemmed their flow as I realised that he was not going to send me back.

"I know it was brave of you to come all this way to find me instead of going to some other farm or household closer to home, but it now means that neither you nor I can go back to my home. The repercussions of your actions, or rather the expected action of brother James and his cronies, don't just affect you. If I went back, my life there would be miserable too even if they would allow me to return, so these squalid rooms will have to serve as home for the foreseeable future. In any case life at the Manor without you would be very dull. I guess you know that I have feelings for you that, as the son and heir to a lord, most would deem inappropriate and father would no doubt condemn me and probably disinherit me too. Knowing what life will be if you decide to stay, it might be better for you to just stay for a few days while you look for a position around here in a smaller household than ours. I would give you a reference." There was no doubt in my mind that I would live with him, whatever the conditions.

Indeed, within a month those conditions became a reality. As he'd said, most of what he earned from the Sir Archibald Remmington painting went to paying his debts. The cost of his studio and lodgings amazed me but Leonard, he told me to stop calling him Master or Sir now, assured me they were cheap for a location in London. When we became desperate for money we set up a stall on Fulham market but the only things we sold were my small watercolours of flowers and they went for only a few pence each but still that allowed us to buy a little food and it made me feel as though I was contributing to our relationship instead of just being a bed companion and maid.

We discussed what to do at some length and I suggested that the only reason I sold my little paintings was because people who attended that market, were from the poorer part of town and none could afford the prices of Leonard's oil paintings. I also suggested he take a canvas to work on while at the market and then perhaps a commission would be forthcoming. After two weeks, we sold one of the landscapes he'd done at Witchellden but again, most of the money had to go to stave off homelessness but I did buy a small handcart so that we could carry more work to the market.

Life continued in this way for three months. On wet days, I continued painting flowers and they did indeed bring us in enough money for a meagre amount of food and I did sell one of his larger paintings. I said, 'I' sold it because, Leonard's health deteriorated with a chest infection causing him to cough badly, and I took the work to market. The man who bought it, gave me some advice. "You are wasting your time trying to sell quality stuff here my dear. Very few who come to this market are rich enough to afford the price you have to charge for a decent painting. You would be better off going to Kensington and sitting on the pavement there with a few items."

I thanked him and in my mind, I already knew what he'd said was true but Kensington was much further away and I knew of no one there whereas at Fulham, I become known to many of the traders. However, Leonard's health did not improve and I needed money for medicines as well as food and rent so early one morning I loaded the handcart and set off for Kensington and found a place where I could sit and prop the paintings against a fence. A few people stopped and looked and made comments on the work but none bought anything until a well dressed lady stopped and bought several of my flower paintings and enquired about the artist who did the portraits. She was especially taken with the one of me because of the likeness. We chatted for several minutes before she said, "May I give you a little advice dear? Take the pictures home and come back on Sunday if the weather is fine and set yourself up across the way." She indicated a place a hundred yards or so from the church. "Change the prices from £1 to 100 guineas or more and make a good sign to say they were painted by Lord Marchant's son Leonard." I couldn't see that putting the price up by so much would sell any paintings at all but she assured me that if the gentry in this area saw something for only a pound, they would think it worthless and beneath their consideration. Whereas a high price would get their attention and they would look at the painting as a quality piece of work."