Page 15 of Zenith
7
That very evening, I returned to the studio with my convictions stronger than ever.
Mr. Briggs did not have to say it, nor did he have to understand—I knew Edward was searching for me. Soon enough, his feet would bring him to this very spot, his heart wild with wrath knowing I’d turned to Rivers, the man he’d so blatantly warned me about, for assistance.
Lingering in the studio, I stood before the latest of Rivers’s paintings. It was a large landscape, just like all the others, but this one was different. Where the others were bright, this was dark, the canvas mostly black with various grays giving life to the vista of the moors. Flecks of metallic gold and silver wove through some of the brushstrokes, giving depth to an otherwise bleak image. It had an air of melancholy about it that was unsettling. Perhaps this painting echoed his mood, and I hated to think what it could mean.
It reminded me of a certain brooding gentleman, the storm that twisted his very being brought to life on canvas. Had Rivers’s painted a representation of Edward? I doubted it, but it was quite accurate if it was.
My thoughts went back to my current circumstance, and I shivered. Edward would come eventually, but by then, I would be gone. I was not ready to face him.
“Jane.”
I turned to find Rivers watching me from across the studio, and I wondered how long he’d been there. Perhaps he’d read my thoughts precisely, for I’d done nothing to mask them since I’d thought I was alone.
“Do you like it?” he asked, nodding at the painting beside me.
Turning my gaze upon it, I studied the colors as they blended through the next, and stilled as Rivers claimed the space to my right.
“It’s very fine,” I replied. “The colors you have chosen make it stand out from the others. It reminds me of black marble in a way, or perhaps a dark emotion of some kind.”
“Your eye is becoming sharper for art,” he said, sounding pleased.
“I have had a patient teacher.”
He laughed softly and allowed the silence to open between us.
“Jane,” he said after a moment. “Would you reconsider sitting for me? I would love to paint you more than words can express.”
“I don’t know…” My shoulders tensed, and I wrapped my arms around my stomach.
“There is nothing untoward about it,” he went on, attempting to put me at ease. “The collection is nothing without its crowning piece.”
“You once told me you had a way with painting your subjects,” I said. “That you can uncover their true personalities through your work.”
“That is true,” he replied. “Have you something you wish to remain hidden?” He asked it in jest, but he could not have been any more correct in his assumption. “Please, Jane. I am desperate!”
My resolve cracked, and I smiled at his playful tone. Perhaps it would not be too much of a scandal if I allowed him to paint me.
“How would you paint me?” I asked, toying with the notion.
Rivers smiled brightly and turned to face me completely. “Your skin and flesh as you are, beautiful, naked…glowing.”
I swallowed hard, my eyebrows raising in shock. “Naked? I…”
“As I said, nothing untoward, Jane.”
I glanced away, trembling. Sitting for a painting was one thing, but to be naked under John Rivers’s eyes and immortalized on canvas? It was too exposing and far too much for my closed personality to bear. I could not.
“If this is to be about Thornfield, then you must remember what you said to me about being an iceberg,” I taunted, attempting to convince him I must remain clothed. “Some mystery should remain, don’t you think?”
He considered this, then nodded. “You are right. However, I must make an admission.”
“Which is?”
“Thornfield is part of it, yes, but each painting represents an emotion or quality I saw in you, Jane. That is why I would like to paint your portrait. Each canvas is part of the iceberg, and you…” He turned to me with a smile. “I need the tip of the monolith, the jewel in the crown, the muse herself to complete the circle. The iceberg and all her hidden parts.”
“If what you say is true, then all my hidden parts are within the landscapes. Wouldn’t the portrait be of the tip of the iceberg, the outside and the part of me that is showing to the world?”
