actually quite scared. If Nick was stealing poison for Richard Fitzgrey, he wouldn't want me to tattle tale about it so who knows what he might do? He could get violent, or maybe even kidnap me—though that would be dangerous in broad daylight, so close to the palace. And though Nick has long legs, I think Masou could certainly outrun him to raise the alarm. Still, it was quite frightening.
However, I wasn't going to let Nick know I was afraid, so I took a step forward and pointed at him. “We saw you stealing from the Workroom!” I said loudly. “What were you going to do with all the poison you took?”
For a moment I thought he might try and brazen it out, but then he looked down and sighed. “I need paint,” he said quietly. “I
must
have it. And I cannot afford to buy it—or not enough of it, anyway.”
I narrowed my eyes and stared at him suspiciously. Was it possible he was stealing poisonous paint … to paint with?
“Come and see,” he said. “I'll show you what I'm doing with it.”
For a moment I hesitated. Ellie stepped forwards and I could see she'd quietly picked up a rock, which she was hiding in the folds of her old blue kirtle.
“What'll you do to m'lady if she comes into your lodgings with you?” she demanded rudely.
Nick stepped back a fraction and spread his hands. “Nothing, I swear,” he replied. “I just want to show her what I need the paint for.” There was a pause while Ellie glowered at him suspiciously. “Look,” he said, “the only thing I care about is my painting. I would not risk my position at Court for anything else.”
“Masou,” I said, quietly, “would you wait five minutes until we come down?”
Masou nodded, folded his arms, and leaned against the wall, staring at Nick threateningly through narrowed eyes.
Nick turned and led the way up the stairs. Ellie and I followed. We went in through a small door at the top where Nick had to duck his head.
Inside, a straw pallet and some blankets lay on the paint-splattered wooden floor. The rest of the room was filled with canvases and panels, all half-finished, as we had seen from the scaffolding. There were some miniatures, painted on vellum backed with a playing card, and I saw one, nearly finished, of the Queen herself in the robes Sarah had been wearing in the Workroom—he must have done it from memory.
In the centre of the room was an easel with a truly enormous canvas upon it. Brightly coloured warriors fought across the canvas, and a big wooden horse towered over everything.
“While I am working for Mrs. Teerlinc at the Workroom, I have no time to seek a patron,” he explained. “And so I must … borrow for my art. See, this picture has a Classical theme—the Sack of Troy!” He gestured at the big canvas and looked proud of himself.
“So why was Richard Fitzgrey here?” I asked.
“He was modelling for me, in exchange for a miniature I am making of him,” Nick told me. “I needed a well-looking man for the face of Paris. Look—here are a few chalk and graphite studies I have done of him.”
It was very odd—when I looked at the big canvas I could see that the figures and colours were good, but somehow the picture didn't fit together properly. It looked rather jumbled. But the small studies of Richard Fitzgrey were marvellous—it was just as if he were looking out of the paper at us.
“What do you think?” Nick asked, with a funny, nervous expression on his face.
“Well … ,” I began, slowly, not wanting to hurt his feelings.
“I think the limnings you've done of Mr. Fitzgrey are beautiful,” breathed Ellie. “I wish I could have one. They make him look even more handsome than he is already!”
“But the big painting? The Classical theme, my lady?” Nick pressed.
“Well,” I said. “It's just that, there's so much happening, and it's all a bit mixed up.”
“That's the Italian style!” he told me, sounding annoyed.
“Hmf !” said Ellie. “I dunno why you want to go
However, I wasn't going to let Nick know I was afraid, so I took a step forward and pointed at him. “We saw you stealing from the Workroom!” I said loudly. “What were you going to do with all the poison you took?”
For a moment I thought he might try and brazen it out, but then he looked down and sighed. “I need paint,” he said quietly. “I
must
have it. And I cannot afford to buy it—or not enough of it, anyway.”
I narrowed my eyes and stared at him suspiciously. Was it possible he was stealing poisonous paint … to paint with?
“Come and see,” he said. “I'll show you what I'm doing with it.”
For a moment I hesitated. Ellie stepped forwards and I could see she'd quietly picked up a rock, which she was hiding in the folds of her old blue kirtle.
“What'll you do to m'lady if she comes into your lodgings with you?” she demanded rudely.
Nick stepped back a fraction and spread his hands. “Nothing, I swear,” he replied. “I just want to show her what I need the paint for.” There was a pause while Ellie glowered at him suspiciously. “Look,” he said, “the only thing I care about is my painting. I would not risk my position at Court for anything else.”
“Masou,” I said, quietly, “would you wait five minutes until we come down?”
Masou nodded, folded his arms, and leaned against the wall, staring at Nick threateningly through narrowed eyes.
Nick turned and led the way up the stairs. Ellie and I followed. We went in through a small door at the top where Nick had to duck his head.
Inside, a straw pallet and some blankets lay on the paint-splattered wooden floor. The rest of the room was filled with canvases and panels, all half-finished, as we had seen from the scaffolding. There were some miniatures, painted on vellum backed with a playing card, and I saw one, nearly finished, of the Queen herself in the robes Sarah had been wearing in the Workroom—he must have done it from memory.
In the centre of the room was an easel with a truly enormous canvas upon it. Brightly coloured warriors fought across the canvas, and a big wooden horse towered over everything.
“While I am working for Mrs. Teerlinc at the Workroom, I have no time to seek a patron,” he explained. “And so I must … borrow for my art. See, this picture has a Classical theme—the Sack of Troy!” He gestured at the big canvas and looked proud of himself.
“So why was Richard Fitzgrey here?” I asked.
“He was modelling for me, in exchange for a miniature I am making of him,” Nick told me. “I needed a well-looking man for the face of Paris. Look—here are a few chalk and graphite studies I have done of him.”
It was very odd—when I looked at the big canvas I could see that the figures and colours were good, but somehow the picture didn't fit together properly. It looked rather jumbled. But the small studies of Richard Fitzgrey were marvellous—it was just as if he were looking out of the paper at us.
“What do you think?” Nick asked, with a funny, nervous expression on his face.
“Well … ,” I began, slowly, not wanting to hurt his feelings.
“I think the limnings you've done of Mr. Fitzgrey are beautiful,” breathed Ellie. “I wish I could have one. They make him look even more handsome than he is already!”
“But the big painting? The Classical theme, my lady?” Nick pressed.
“Well,” I said. “It's just that, there's so much happening, and it's all a bit mixed up.”
“That's the Italian style!” he told me, sounding annoyed.
“Hmf !” said Ellie. “I dunno why you want to go
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