Read Online Portrait of Jonathan by Margaret Dickinson - Free Book Online Page B

yet, dared to show him her efforts. Lavinia herself, considered them of little importance or interest to anyone else, though she gained much pleasure from the execution of her little pictures. She kept her work in a green folder, but she never felt the need to hide the folder as she had done in her parents’ house, safe in the knowledge that her grandfather respected her need and wish for privacy in this respect. He would not, she knew, look upon her work unless she herself desired him to do so.
    Increasingly often, she found herself sketching Jonathan. She drew his face from all angles—so well had she absorbed every expression of the face she loved. Occasionally she drew Giles, Lady Melmoth, Lord Melmoth and her grandfather.
    Never did she recall the faces of her parents or brother on paper.
    Only the faces of people she loved had she committed to memory so perfectly as to be able to reproduce them from memory: and the face her pencil sketched the most was Jonathan’s.
    On the day the Eldons were expected, Lord Rowan said at breakfast.
    â€˜No lessons today, my dear. I have some business to attend to before Melmoth arrives. Amuse yourself but don’t stray far from the house.’
    â€˜No, Grandfather. What time will I … will they be here?’
    â€˜Late afternoon, I should think, in good time for dinner.’
    The day was sunny and warm for early May. The garden was peaceful, save for the twittering and singing of birds. Lavinia was seated on a white-painted garden seat near a pool in the centre of which was a fountain springing from an urn held by a white marble figure—a woman of ancient times carrying the urn on her shoulder.
    The fountain cascaded in silver drops all round the figure into the round pool below, the borders of which were covered with water-lilies, and if she bent forward, Lavinia could see goldfish darting to and fro beneath the dark green circular leaves of the lilies. The fountain—Lavinia’s favourite spot—was in a small enclosed garden which she learnt from Mrs Matthews, had been her grandmother’s favourite spot too. It seemed natural for the lonely child to find herself drawn to this place, drawn to the garden beloved by the woman who, had she lived, would have loved Lavinia too.
    When Lord Rowan had for the first time found Lavinia seated in exactly the same place as his wife had so often sat, the pain of remembrance was sharp, and yet at the same moment he was filled with a quiet happiness at seeing the young girl growing towards the woman her grandmother had been, even to finding affinity with her in her garden.
    The garden was situated at the back and some distance away from the house and so Lavinia did not hear the carriage and did not know of the Eldons’ arrival until Giles’ voice broke into her day-dreaming.
    â€˜Why, there you are, Vinny, hiding yourself away. Come and greet your guests.’
    â€˜Oh!’ She jumped up, startled from her reverie. The folder of sketches slipped to the ground, scattering the papers on to the slabbed pathway round the pool.
    â€˜Careful,’ cried Giles hurrying forward. ‘You’ll lose your papers in the water.’
    He bent to help her gather the sheets of paper together.
    â€˜It’s all right—really,’ she said in confusion and fear that he would see the drawings.
    â€˜Hey, Vinny. These are marvellous. Why, there’s one of Jonathan. My, my, that’s wonderful—so lifelike. And here’s one of Papa and Mama together. Vinny, you’ve talent, great talent. Here’s one of me. Ha-ha,’ he laughed delightedly to see his beaming face staring back at him from the paper. ‘And another of old Jonathan, and another, and another, and …’
    â€˜Please, Giles, give them back to me.’
    He looked up then from the pictures and saw her face suffused with hot embarrassment.
    â€˜Why, Vinny, don’t be shy of these . They’re superb.