Chapter 3
Inside the portrait shop, I found myself seated across from the shopkeeper at a modest tea table. This was the same man who had handed me the handkerchief earlier. He appeared to be in his thirties, with a face that straddled the line between trustworthy and suspicious. A rare feat, truly.
He had invited me inside, which was convenient since this was my destination anyway. "Are you quite alright now?" he asked.
"Quite," I replied, donning my most charming smile. "I was simply moved by the newspaper, that is all." It wasn't entirely untrue. He didn't seem convinced but wisely chose to let the matter rest. To be fair, I wasn't entirely convinced myself.
"Thank you for accepting my invitation for tea. I must admit, I was quite forward in my approach, but when I saw you earlier, I knew you were the one. The one to model a client's diamond necklace."
Well, wasn't this fortuitous? No application, no pleading, no begging, just my face doing all the work. Sometimes, even with my flawed temperament and physical limitations, this wretched visage of mine managed to open doors.
He continued, his enthusiasm growing. "My most skilled painter will be creating a portrait of you wearing the necklace. The idea is to use the portrait to advertise it, as the owner wishes to sell it. The payment will be six silvers."
"Six silvers in full, correct?" Because clarity in matters of coin is a virtue.
"Yes!" he exclaimed. He darted toward the back door, glancing over his shoulder as though I might vanish if left unattended. "Tim!" he called before returning to me with a gleam in his eyes, "If you agree to begin immediately, I'll add one more silver!"
"Done," I replied without hesitation,
"An absolute pleasure to meet you." He extended his hand toward me in that absurdly theatrical manner some people employ when pretending to be more refined than they are.
Oh, for heaven's sake. Did we really have to engage in this ridiculous pantomime of nobility? Was I truly expected to place my hand in his so he could kiss my knuckles, as if I were a duchess and not a woman here for quick coin? I rolled my eyes internally.
Thinking about the glorious sum of seven silvers soon to be mine, I placed my left hand delicately into his outstretched one. Predictably, he did exactly what I expected. "Folks call me Jack Inns."
"Ann Woodstone," I replied with practiced grace.
From the back room emerged a man who looked to be around forty. His clothes were full of paint stains. This must be Tim. The painter Jack had mentioned.
Jack wasted no time. I was unceremoniously ushered into a room and instructed to shed my poor-quality peasant brown dress, replacing it with an admittedly lovely white gown that left my shoulders scandalously bare. No sooner had I donned the garment than a diamond necklace was fastened around my neck.
Once I was suitably adorned, they positioned me by the window where the light poured in with angelic intensity. Tim stationed himself in front of a grand canvas and began his work with the flourish of a man possessed.
And so, I sat. And sat. And sat. Hours passed in a blur of stillness, my only companion was the growing sense of dread from my bladder. By the time noon arrived, I was on the verge of losing all composure. My bodily discomfort had reached its zenith when Tim finally exclaimed, "Done! Beautiful!" His voice rang with pride.
I bolted upright with an urgency that startled even myself. "Where is the outhouse?" I demanded in desperation.
"Out the back door to the left…" he stammered.
Honestly, the man looked as if I had shattered some sacred illusion of femininity. But truly, what did he expect? Did he think women floated about without the burdens of bodily functions? I had no shame in admitting my need. Nature calls for all of us, and I, for one, am not about to suffer for the sake of false modesty.
I hastened outside, attended to nature's call and returned to the shop feeling lighter. Upon reentering, my eyes fell upon the completed portrait. I leaned in to examine it.
Tim's skill was commendable. The strokes were precise, the shading tasteful, and the overall effect quite striking. However, it lacked the finesse of Cecilia's work. Cecilia had painted me countless times in the past. She had an artistry that went beyond technical skill, a gift that made her creations breathe with life. Compared to that, Tim's work, while excellent, was missing a spark.