Portraits of Pemberley Read online

  “It is a wonder he has the time. My Edward never takes such an interest in our family history. Wasn’t the other painting rather morbid? Some sort of scientific subject?”

  “You remember well, Pemberley boasts a number of works by the Dutch masters. A bit dark for a chamber such as this, but quite at home in Mr. Darcy’s library.”

  “Agreed, I do approve of the changes you have made. Pemberley has been far too long without a lady’s touch.”

  Elizabeth only smiled, she had actually done very little in the way of altering the already beautiful home, but it was pleasant to have it believed. The arrival of a maid bearing a cart laden with tea and cakes only added to the perception.

  “I suggest we take some refreshment. Surely Master Linder’s fingers need some rest before starting your portrait Mrs. Barrington?”

  The prospect of sweets brought Grace Barrington back to the main seating area. Opting for a small sofa, she patted the empty space beside her.

  “You are most gracious, Mrs. Darcy. Perhaps Master Linder will consent to sharing how he learned his technique?”

  Grimacing to himself, and fearing for his person, Thomas Linder bowed and made apologies. “I do thank you, but I must retrieve another set of charcoals from my quarters. Will you be ready to continue in an hour or so?”

  Elizabeth nodded a dismissal, no doubt the man wished to inspect the damage done by Grace Barrington’s knotty fingers. It would truly be a wonder if he survived the experience without permanent damage, perhaps a bonus was in order? Looking at the rough drawing of herself, Elizabeth was startled by the likeness. Despite being only black and white, it was as if she could reach out and touch the twin of herself as a living, breathing person. This man was just as gifted as the unknown stranger that had painted Isabel Darcy so many years ago.

  ~Twenty-three~

  Thomas Linder breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he exited the solarium, leaving the ladies to their tea. Giving a small prayer of thanks to Mrs. Darcy for realizing his need for some distance away from the groping hands of Grace Barrington. When he returned, she would be next to sit for her preliminary sketch. At least then, he would not have to suffer her attentions upon his person. With an hour at his disposal, as well as the occupation of Mrs. Darcy, Linder returned to his chamber, retrieving the needed tools and then casually wandered the formal reception rooms in an effort to waste time while seeking out the library. During his first days at Pemberley, Mrs. Reynolds had given a rudimentary tour of the house. But as a person whose stay was to be relatively brief, many rooms had been omitted as not necessary to his occupation. Entering the great hall, Thomas was greeted by a sleepy footman more interested in continuing his nap than offering any assistance. As a hired artist, Linder knew his station was higher than that of a servant, but not that of an honored guest. As such, he was not in a position to give orders of any sort. Small bribes had often loosened the tongues of loyal staff when information was required. Hoping this was also the case here, he reached into a pocket for the shillings kept for that exact purpose.

  “Hey there, I don’t suppose you know which one of those doors leads to the library? Mrs. Darcy asked me to fetch a book on the works of Van der Meer, but I confess to having forgotten exactly where the chamber is located. Bloody maze this place.”

  To this request, the young liveried man drew himself up as tall as his lanky form would allow. Any opportunity to appear the superior was eagerly seized, especially when it came to hired outsiders.

  “The name is Reginald… Reggie if you like. Pemberley is indeed a bit of a puzzle for one not accustomed to houses of this size. The chamber you seek is just there, the second set of double doors… but it will be locked. I trust Mrs. Darcy gave you a key?”

  “Er..no. She must have forgot, busy entertaining her guests. I don’t suppose you could help me out?” Linder asked, allowing his fingers to jingle the coins in his pocket audibly.

  “Ugh! Old lady Barrington! Watch out for that one, slippery hands if you get my meaning. Nearly dumped an entire tureen of soup because of her. It’s against the rules, but perhaps just this one time… a special case for a fellow wounded.”

  Reginald produced a large ring of keys from under the box chair of his post. The brass circlet held at least half a dozen, but he deftly chose the correct instrument and let the painter inside before collecting his fare greedily and returning to his place beside the entry.

  The Pemberley library, a legendary topic amongst academics, had its desired effect upon Thomas Linder. Turning on a gas lamp to illuminate the darkness, he was nearly awestruck by the chamber’s magnificence. Clearly, astute planning had created the architectural masterpiece. Reaching a full two stories, glass doored bookcases stretched to the sky, broken by carved mahogany panels upon which priceless works of art were displayed. A trill of excitement that could not be controlled threatened Thomas’ composure as he slowly took in the first paintings. Only the Louvre rivaled the Darcy collection.

  “Titian, Botticelli, van der Meer, van Rijn, Vermeer…who don’t they have?” Linder said aloud to the images that stared down at him as he felt the ugly pang of jealousy course through his veins. How could one family keep such beauty to themselves? With an emotion near anger growing, Linder’s heart skipped a beat when a tired disembodied voice answered the question in his mind.

  “A Van Gogh would be welcome, but I fear that even my comfortable existence cannot reach that level. Most of these were acquired long before my time, I am simply the caretaker, preserving for the future. But I must admit to some selfishness in not sharing them with the world.”

  “Mr. Darcy! I had no idea… my apologies for the intrusion… I was on an errand to fetch a book for Mrs. Darcy,” Linder lied. The sight of his host rising from the sofa upon which he had reclined gave him a start, but Thomas was accustomed to acting quickly to survive.

  “It is quite all right. I was just resting a bit. Reading is an excellent way to improve the mind, but not if it keeps one up to all hours at the cost of their eyesight.”

  “It must have been something of great importance to have warranted the risk.”

  Darcy gave a short laugh; he had fallen asleep reading for the past three evenings. His absence had been enough to cause Elizabeth to refer to the library as his mistress. Of late, he had wondered if this nocturnal activity was making him eccentric. “Not really, I just hate to put a book down unfinished. But now that you are here, there is something of which I hope to beg your expert opinion.”

  “I am hardly an expert in anything, but I am at your disposal.”

  “It is one of the Vermeer’s…ordinarily I take it upon myself to see to the cleaning, but this one is particularly fragile. The paint has begun to crack and peel, revealing the canvas below. I hate to do more damage, but nor do I want to put it away. Paintings are of no value unless exposed for admiration, don’t you agree?”

  “Most certainly, but I cannot make any promises. Sometimes it is best to leave things to their natural decay, but I would be happy to give it my attention.”

  Rising to his feet, Darcy opened the draperies to allow the natural daylight to flood the room. Out of preservation for its contents, every window in the chamber had been fitted with long thick curtains to block out harmful rays. However, excellent light was needed for careful inspection. The painting in question, hung at eye level over a low cabinet containing an array of miniature portraits. The desire to examine them was tempting, but Linder kept his focus upon the work above.

  “It’s called Lady Seated at a Virginal. The blues are exquisite, and have survived well, but the golds and orange tones are suffering. This is a family favorite, my father and I used to tease my sister Georgiana that she and the girl bear a strong likeness.”

  Thomas Linder studied the portrait carefully, gently touching the area that had cracked and peeled. Indeed, it had seen better days, but the damage was definitely repairable. Orange and golds were easy enough to duplicate, but had it been the famous Vermeer blu
e, well that was another matter. To his knowledge, the secret for mixing those particular shades had died with the master.

  “With your permission, I believe that I can do some restoration. No major alteration of course as it is impossible to truly duplicate pigments of this age, but I can definitely abate further decay.”

  “I should not want to impose, especially with all the other work…”

  “It is no imposition. Rare it is to have such an opportunity; I consider it an honor to be considered.”

  “To our both good fortunes. I shall have it removed to the solarium tomorrow?”

  “Oh! Not there sir, I fear damaging it with so many people going about the chamber. If you please, have it sent directly to my private quarters. I find that restoration requires complete concentration without distraction.”

  “Yes, of course. I can only imagine what suggestions Mrs. Barrington might give as to its alteration….by the way… is she behaving herself?”

  Linder reddened, it was embarrassing yet comforting to know all others were aware of the old lady’s tendencies, but not enough to refuse her.

  “I am quite intact. It is not the first time I have had to dodge a patron’s advances, but thank you for your consideration. That reminds me, I should be getting back to the ladies. They will have done with their tea by now.”

  “Indeed, do not let me keep you further.”

  Linder nodded and was nearly at the door before Darcy’s voice called to him again. The ruse he utilized to gain entry had been completely forgotten. Turning, he found his host holding a large, flat volume.

  “Don’t forget this…”

  Taking the book, Linder bowed slightly in acknowledgement, but it was clear that Darcy had recognized his lie. However, it mattered not, for Thomas Linder was not afraid of Fitzwilliam Darcy, but he was terrified of Matthew Jennings. The Master of Pemberley had made it very easy for him to duplicate a valuable Renaissance work of art. And now that he knew the location of others, it would be easy to procure more. With a sigh of relief, Linder returned with book in hand to the solarium, but he would need to find a way back into the library without detection. Those paintings could be his salvation.

  ~Twenty-four~

  One week later…

  Elizabeth Darcy, gowned once again in the pink brocade, sat still as death while Thomas Linder applied the first strokes of paint to canvas. It had taken a few days for the charcoal sketches to be complete, but not due to any slowness of ability on his part. Grace Barrington had refused to be pleased with his efforts, first with that of herself, then those of her granddaughter. When her attempts to seduce the young man had miserably failed, the old woman did her best to place poor Evie on display.

  “Is she not a beautiful child? Too much so to be wasted in a convent. Even marriage to one such as yourself would not be looked upon unfavorably. Our family is not without considerable means, Evie’s fortune would be better spent on paint than prayers.”

  The attempts at matchmaking had fallen on deaf ears. Neither Evie Barrington, nor Thomas Linder entertained the possibility of any sort of connection. In fact, after only three sessions, Elizabeth had begun to believe that Evie’s inclination to take holy orders was sincere. The girl was quick of mind, but slow to give opinion, and that was only when something charitable was to be said. Sharpness of word was directly solely towards her grandmother’s actions, and not unwarranted. Choosing to stay out of the matter, Elizabeth focused her attentions on the painter himself. She had not forgotten Lady Catherine’s accusations involving Charlotte, but how did one casually ask a relative stranger about his personal affairs? Fortunately, time was aplenty and the Barringtons were not expected again until the following week. This was the perfect opportunity to seek answers. As of yet, she had not received any correspondence from Charlotte, but no word could also mean no troubles. With this possibility providing hope, Elizabeth did her best to engage in innocuous yet inquisitive conversation.

  “Master Linder, my husband tells me that you were employed at one time to his Aunt… Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”

  “Yes, Madam. Lady Catherine is not one that is easily forgotten.”

  Laughing, Elizabeth agreed, using Darcy’s aunt would broach the subject subtly. “No, that is a certain fact. She can be rather demanding, but her daughter is a gentle soul. I have often wondered how she survived growing up in that household. To my knowledge, there are few visitors aside from family and the Vicar, Mr. Collins. He too can be rather difficult to bear.”

  “Mr. Collins? The pale nervous man? He seemed rather appreciative of his patroness; is he not a relation of your own?”

  “A cousin, but heir to my father’s estate. He recently married the daughter of our closest neighbor. Did you have occasion meet Mrs. Collins?”

  Elizabeth chose her words carefully as to keep truth, yet omit any circumstance that would reveal the closeness of friendship she held with Charlotte. Studying the painter intently, Elizabeth could perceive no sign that Charlotte meant anything to Mr. Linder. If Lady Catherine was correct, surely, he would display some sort of emotion at the sound of her name. Since the portrait sittings began, Elizabeth’s opinion of the man had been charitable. There was no evidence that he was a selfish and callous person, caring nothing once his own desires were satisfied. However, Elizabeth had once been fooled by a charming and handsome face, as had many others. If this man was the one with whom Charlotte had strayed, what would she do with the knowledge? Was it her place to inform him of a child? How would he react? It could be worse for Charlotte in the end. Elizabeth’s thoughts must have transferred to her features, resulting in a puzzled look from the painter.

  “I only formally met the lady once, but saw her many times, walking in the knot garden. From your expression, is there a dislike for her?”

  “Oh! No, I was just wondering if she was happy, and he with her. The knot garden you say? That is quite a way from the vicarage.”

  “About a mile or so, I have an avid interest in landscapes, botany in particular. Lady Catherine allowed me to set up easels on the grounds and even purchased two of them, Roses if I remember correctly. Mrs. Collins seemed to share that interest, as she walked with a sketchbook of her own. Once, I thought to engage her in conversation, but it became obvious that she was waiting for someone else. Afterwards, I did not intrude.”

  “Well perhaps it was of a personal nature, vicar’s wives often serve the community just as much as their husbands.”

  The painter only nodded, and Elizabeth did not press him further. Despite Lady Catherine’s accusations, she did not believe that Thomas Linder had engaged in any inappropriate behavior with Charlotte. There was something about him that was elusive, but as a person whose presence was often fleeting, it would not be untoward to keep to oneself. Chastising herself for prying, Elizabeth changed the subject. The prospect of becoming an interfering busybody like her own mother was off putting enough to render silence. Besides, she was not supposed to move during the sitting. Noticing her silence, the painter explained the techniques of his craft while she posed.

  “You may speak for now; I am trying to capture the vagrancies of light and shadow in the folds of your gown. It will be critical to sit the same way each day, and at the same hour. Unless it is rainy, then everything changes, that is when I may employ the hanging lamps to create the same level of light.”

  “I had no idea that it was so complex. How did you ever learn to do it so well?”

  “Practice… with much trial and error, but the painting part is much easier than mixing the pigments. Each shade is particular to the ingredients and can never be truly duplicated, it is what makes a work unique. Many artists seek out natural materials from the environment in which they live. The great Vermeer was known for a shade of blue that has never been duplicated.”

  “I am familiar with that name. I believe that there are one or two of his paintings here at Pemberley.”

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy was kind enough to show me the paintings ho
used in the library. I have to admit to having intruded upon him.”

  Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, what had he been doing there? Due to the rarity and value of Darcy’s collection of books and art, the library was the one space that was kept locked unless in use by the family. To her knowledge, there were only four keys to that chamber. No servant or guest could casually enter, even Mrs. Reynolds personally supervised all cleaning. Having grown up with few servants, Elizabeth was not accustomed to so many people coming and going in her home. Of course, they always knocked before entering personal spaces or occupied rooms. Thomas Linder was not a servant exactly, but nor was he family. Curiosity was natural, perhaps it was best to satisfy it before forming uncharitable opinions.

  “Master Linder? I must apologize, but I am feeling a bit tired today, might we end the session?”

  “Of course, Madam, a well rested subject is always best. Shall we adjourn until tomorrow? I can finish mixing the additional colors before then.”

  “That would be excellent, but before I leave you to it, please accept an invitation to dinner tonight. As we will not be entertaining, a small table will be set up in the library. I should love to hear your opinions on our pieces.”

  “Nothing would please me more,” he said sincerely. The prospect of continual lies did not sit well with the painter. He found himself liking the Darcys more each day, and hating himself for needing to deceive, but he would do as he was ordered. Steal he must, it was a matter of survival.