Ironbark by Johanna Nicholls Page B

haughtily. ‘If you will excuse me, Sir.’
    â€˜I most certainly will not!’ He blocked her passage to the door. ‘I want you to know how I feel. Against my will, Keziah, I am falling in love with you.’
    Keziah’s confusion was close to panic. She realised how her arrogance had made her disregard her grandmother’s warning. ‘I didn’t mean to mislead you. I belong to Gem.’
    Caleb turned away but not quickly enough to disguise his trembling hand. He picked up another book. ‘This is a natural history book with wondrous illustrations of flora and fauna in New South Wales. Some names are in Latin but I’ll translate those for you.’
    At lesson’s end Keziah thanked him but she felt unnerved. Caleb’s eyes held a depth of longing she had only ever seen in one other man. Gem.

CHAPTER 6
    I must paint her. It was a thought that haunted Daniel Browne day and night.
    During the first weeks of his apprenticeship, Daniel loved his work restoring paintings but he longed for the hours he was free to draw the images of Our Lady that filled his head.
    Every Sunday morning he took communion but it wasn’t religious fervour that motivated him. He visited the cathedral and many other churches hungry to discover all their artworks.
    Today was his first exposure to St Michael’s. Daniel was overwhelmed by the ritual, colour and incense which seemed like a theatrical experience compared with the plain Low-Church services of his village. He gazed at the large stained-glass nativity window, thrilled by its beauty. In the bottom panel the Virgin Mary was depicted with hands clasped in prayer, a traditional sky-blue robe draped over her russet-red gown.
    Daniel could never pray from the heart to the god who had taken his mother from him, but the Virgin’s gentle beauty spoke to his soul and allowed him to make a silent confession.
    It isn’t the stigma of illegitimacy that weighs heavily on me, Holy Mother. It is knowing that in my first act of life I killed my own mother. I beg you, take away my guilt.
    There was no answer. He was distracted by the sight of a young girl kneeling at the altar rail to take communion. Dark hair flowed down her back from the circlet of fur crowning her head. Her profile was as serene as a nun taking her final vows. Her tight Russian jacket could not hide that her chest was almost as flat as a boy’s but the soft, feminine beauty of her face more than compensated. Daniel was not surprisedthat she did not return his glances. She was clearly too far above him in station to notice an apprentice with paint-stained fingernails.
    At the conclusion of the service Daniel hurried to his basement room and struggled to capture the Virgin Mary’s face in his first oil painting. His concentration was broken by footsteps in the gallery above. Shaking with fear at the prospect of confronting a thief, he armed himself with the poker from the fireplace and crept barefoot up the stairs. Maynard Plews eyed Daniel’s weapon with raised eyebrows.
    â€˜You disappeared after church, lad. Before I had a chance to invite you to dinner tonight.’ His mouth twitched. ‘It’s safe to lay down your weapon. No need to protect yourself from me.’
    â€˜Sorry, Sir. I thank you for your kind invitation.’
    â€˜My family will be pleased to have a fresh source of conversation. Shall we say half six?’
    Daniel was grateful but annoyed that he’d have less time to work on the Virgin Mary painting. After his master’s departure he rechecked that the cash box was locked in the safe. The man was growing absent-minded – he had left a small parcel tied with string on the desk.
    Back in front of his canvas Daniel fought to master the oil paints. The colours excited him but his Virgin Mary’s face was stiff and remote.
    As he fought to give her life, he lost all sense of time. Mindful he must not arrive late for dinner, he ran