‘Because you have no idea what it will cost for the rent, let alone the quantity of materials you will need. You could lose every penny you can raise from those gems and it is quite certain that you will lose your reputation. You must employ a maid to lend you countenance—which is more expense—and even then, you will be seen as little better than a...than an actress.’
‘And I know just what you mean by that! Why a lady employed in a respectable artistic career should be considered in the same light as a street walker, I cannot imagine.’
‘Because she cannot be thought to be supporting herself and it would therefore be concluded that she has a male protector,’ Ivo said.
‘But do consider, Ivo.’ She twisted round on the seat to face him and make her point more strongly. ‘There are so few female portraitists at work that the profession cannot have acquired the stigma that acting has. I would have thought that ladies might feel more comfortable sitting for a female artist and they must surely think one safer than a man if it is a picture of their daughters in question.’
‘Tell me, Jane—are your parents white of hair and addicted to drink?’
‘Certainly not. Neither drinks to excess and Mama is only forty-six and hardly uses any... I mean she has no grey hair and Papa is forty-eight and has just the slightest touch of silver at the temples. Why ever should you suppose—? Oh, unkind! You think I have made them go grey with anxiety.’ She would have added more, but the carriage made a sharp left and right turn and came to a halt. ‘We are stopping.’ She peered through the glass and fanned herself with her hand, laughing at her own idiotically racing pulse. ‘I thought we had been waylaid for a moment. Where is the Heath?’
‘We have crossed it, bickering. The sound of our acrimony must have scared away the hordes of skulking ne’er-do-wells who might suppose the chaise contained a bear with a sore head and a cockatrice. This is Colnbrook and the George Inn. Do you wish to enter?’
Jane studied the façade of the inn. It looked respectable and Mama always maintained that on a journey one should take advantage of whatever decent amenities came one’s way. ‘I think so.’
* * *
She came back into the yard to find Ivo leaning against the chaise while the postilion argued with the ostler over the proposed horses for the change. A be-whiskered ancient had hobbled up and was clearly in the throes of a long and gruesome story.
‘...and down they’d go into the boiling vat beneath. Ah, famous for its meat stews was the Ostrich,’ he was saying with a cackle as she reached Ivo’s side. ‘And the landlord made himself rich on all the possessions he found in their bedchamber.’
‘And what happened to this villain of a landlord?’ Ivo enquired.
‘’Twas in ancient times, so they say. Before King Henry’s day, even. Hanged, drawn and quartered he was, his guts wound out on a windlass before his very eyes, his todger cut—’
‘Yes, thank you. Have a pint of the best, that must have made you thirsty.’ There was a clink of coin and the ancient tottered off, his thanks floating back to them.
‘What on earth was that all about?’ Jane demanded as the postilion finally agreed on a new pair and Ivo helped her into the chaise.
‘A murderous innkeeper at the Ostrich, opposite. The bed was part of a mechanism that tipped the sleeper into a vat in the cellars, so the story goes.’
‘No! How terrifying. I shall have to check every inn bed in future or I will have dreadful nightmares.’
‘Ridiculous,’ Ivo said briskly. ‘No one could get away with that for long in this modern age.’
‘But what if one was the first victim? Goodness, but it would make a dramatic painting, would it not? The poor sleeper half-awake, clutching at the sheets in terror as he slid inexorably to his doom... The evil landlord stirring his bubbling cauldron below. But perhaps too gruesome to be commercial. I shall have to tell my friend Melissa about it—I am sure she can incorporate it into one of her novels.’
‘Hardly a very suitable pastime for a lady, writing about such things.’
‘You sound like my father when he found me reading a novel. And it is not a pastime: Melissa intends finding a publisher for her work.’
Ivo’s silence was more stinging than words would have been. Jane turned a shoulder on him and stared out of the window.
* * *
‘If you are going to sulk all the way to Newbury...’ he said after they had passed through two villages.
‘I am not sulking. I am refraining from conversation with someone who is prejudiced and antiquated in his views.’
‘You, Miss Newnham, are a severe trial to my patience.’
‘Then please feel free to descend at the next change of horses and make your own way to Bath. As a soldier I imagine you are used to marching.’
‘I am—was—a cavalry man.’
‘How dashing.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Oh, do not look like that! I was not being sarcastic. The cavalry has such glamour. I would love to have painted you in your uniform astride your mount. What colour was it?’
‘Percy is black with one white foot, sixteen point three hands tall and is in livery stables in London until I can retrieve him.’