Page 44 of The Uprising
Mrs Booth poured Turner a cup of tea and placed it on the table in front of him.
‘The beauty of this fine painting on the wall, struck me. Is that for sale, by any chance? If so, I would love to buy it.’
Turner took a slurp of his tea and grunted. ‘You have a good eye, my lord. That has not yet been seen by a soul outside these walls. I pass the time painting purely for pleasure these days. It is the view from this window, and I named it,Chelsea at Dawn.’
‘It is beautiful and depicts the scene so wonderfully. On my walk over here, I wished for a way to capture the beauty of the morning light on the river and you have done it effortlessly, Sir.’
Turner slurped his tea and replaced a rattling saucer on the table. He raised his head to look directly into George’s eyes. ‘Effortless,’ he barked. ‘Oh, it is never effortless, my lord, but I confess to being rather pleased with my efforts on this occasion.’
‘I am in no desperate need to sell my work these days and am blessed to be in the fortunate position of being able to work only when the muse takes me.’
‘My wife would adore this painting, if you would consider parting with it. I am happy for you to name your price. She has had a sorry time of it lately, and I would love to cheer her by bringing home such a gift.’
‘A good husband, you are, Lord Cavendish, and a fortunate wife she is. Go on, Mr Turner, let the man surprise his lovely wife.’
Mr Turner smiled at his lady love, and said, ‘The painting isn’t registered in my collection at the gallery. I grow increasingly weary of making the trip into town. Mrs Booth is right; you’re obviously a good sort and may buy whatever you wish from the small display here at the house. I can tell you are a man of fine taste and my work will be appreciated by you and hopefully by Lady Cavendish in her time of distress.’
They chatted a while longer and arranged the purchase before George bid them farewell.
How George would have loved to have told the painter that in the twenty-first century, not only would the huge art collection he so generously bequeathed to the British nation be on show at the Tate, but one of his paintings owned by a private collector would be auctioned at Sotheby’s and fetch an astonishing forty-seven and a half million dollars.
George whistled as he sauntered back along the river bank, one priceless watercolour in one hand, and the second under his other arm. He had discovered something far better than a photo to bring the light back into Cara’s eyes.
Chapter 14
Pontefract Castle, Yorkshire, 1536 - Tudorville
The mood had grown uglier since George’s arrival at the castle; rebels piled into the courtyard, and the army’s growing numbers were apparent. George hoped the duke wasn’t planning to visit the castle, for he feared he would not enjoy a pleasant reception.
‘I beg you to reconsider your affiliation with the rebels and to withdraw and distance yourself,’ said George.
Lord Darcy reached out and patted George’s arm. ‘It’s too late for that, George, although I appreciate you trying to help. I’m afraid I’m too far in to extract myself now.’
‘I must warn you; it’s my belief this will not end well for the rebels and all who support them. If they march on London, it will be out of my hands and I won’t be able to save you. I hate to see you mixed up in this folly. I know your heart is in the right place, but I fear the king won’t see it that way if you cross him in such a public manner.’
George was weary, but his tone was urgent and compelling. Cara’s warning words reverberated through his mind. The clock was ticking and soon it would be too late to save his old friends from certain death.
‘My disagreement isn’t with the king, but I believe it’s the right thing for the northern lords to make a stand and back the pilgrims against Cromwell’s regime. We have an army gathered which is as great as forty thousand strong. I wouldn’t have believed we could raise such a number if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. The pilgrims are ready to march south and show the king they are resolute, and it would be a tragedy to waste this opportunity.’
‘Surely you do not plan to march with them? You realise it would be a declaration of war on your part?’ said George.
Lord Darcy sighed. ‘I haven’t decided. My health isn’t what it was; my spirit is willing, but my body may not be up to the journey.’
‘I am sorry I cannot dissuade you from the cause,’ said George.
‘I am most grateful to you for your concern. Please give my best to your father when you see him.’
They shook hands and George left the room and headed out to the courtyard. Groups of men clustered in and around the castle, awaiting instructions.
A man shouted, ‘We will march under the banner of the five wounds of Christ,’ and the men cheered and waved their makeshift flags.
George spotted Robert Aske and weaved his way over to him.
‘Good day, George. How are you fairing?’ he greeted him with a smile.
‘Good day to you, Robert. Not as well as I would like. It seems we may be past the point of negotiation if this manic crowd is anything to go by.’
‘I warned you we have large numbers ready for action,’ said Robert.
