have
it, I believe that Christopher may be in the next room. You can have the
pleasure of meeting him immediately.'
When
the servant rose shortly after dawn, he came downstairs with a taper to find
his master slumped across the table, the candle beside him burned to
extinction. Jacob let out a wheeze of disapproval. He put a hand on
Christopher's shoulder to shake him gently awake.
'Go
to bed, sir,' he whispered. 'Let me help you upstairs.'
'What's
that?' said the other drowsily.
'You
need some proper rest, sir.'
'Where
am I?'
'You
fell asleep over your work. Go to bed.'
'No,
no.' Christopher rubbed his eyes and shook himself awake. 'I have too much to
do, Jacob. Far too much.'
'You
have been saying that for weeks, sir. This is the third time in a row that you
have stayed up all night to struggle with your drawings.'
'There
is no struggle involved. It is a labour of love.' 'Show more love to yourself
and less to your work,' advised the old man. 'Flesh and blood can only
withstand so much, sir. You need sleep.'
'What
I need is food and drink. A hearty breakfast will revive me in no time at all.
Then I will be able to finish this last drawing.'
'Let
it wait, sir.'
'There
can be no delay, Jacob. Sir Ambrose expects the completed set today and he will
get them. Everything is riding on this commission. It could be the start of a
whole new career for me. That would mean money, Jacob. You would get your wages
on time for a change. There is a lot at stake here. And whatever happens, I
must not let my brother down. Henry went to great lengths to secure this
opportunity for me. I must take full advantage of it.'
'Even
if it means slaving away night and day?'
'Architecture
is a cruel master.'
Jacob
nodded. 'I will prepare your breakfast, sir.'
'One
moment,' said Christopher, raising a palm to detain him. 'Open those shutters
to let in some light then come and see what I was doing while you were
slumbering upstairs. I have not been idle.'
'That
is my complaint,' muttered the other.
He
opened the shutters, lit a fresh candle with his taper then carried it back to
the table. Christopher proudly spread out his drawings.
'Here
we are,' he said, beaming at his work. 'What do you think?'
'My
opinion is worthless, sir.'
'Not
to me, Jacob.'
'I
know nothing about designing a house.'
'Just
tell me if you would like to live in this one.'
He
stood back so that his servant could have a clear view. The old man ran a
watery eye over each drawing, moving from one to the other with increasing
admiration. He scratched his head in awe. The one over which he lingered most
was a drawing of the front elevation of the house. It was a handsome abode with
a regular facade, neat rectilinear outlines and square-headed doors and windows.
Six stone steps, into which an iron handrail had been set, led up to a portico
which comprised elegant pillars with a flat entablature and low pediment. The
house bore little resemblance to the Tudor dwellings which proliferated in the
city of Jacob's youth and was entirely free from the Gothic extravagances which
adorned so many public buildings before the Great Fire.
Jacob
was especially impressed with the sash windows, a Dutch invention now taken up
with enthusiasm in England. There were eighteen in all, including two which
served the attic rooms. The old man wondered how many more windows the house
contained and which unfortunate servant would be given the task of keeping them
all clean.
'It
is pretty, sir,' he said respectfully. 'Very, very pretty.'
'Thank
you, Jacob.'
'Anyone
would be privileged to live in such a place,'
'I
hope that Sir Ambrose Northcott shares your high opinion.'
'If
he does not, he must be blind. One question, if I may, sir,' he said, pointing
to the first of the drawings. 'Why are the cellars so large?'
'That
was the express wish of my client.'
'What
does he wish to keep down there?'
'Whatever
he wishes, Jacob. Mine is not to question the use to which he puts the
it, I believe that Christopher may be in the next room. You can have the
pleasure of meeting him immediately.'
When
the servant rose shortly after dawn, he came downstairs with a taper to find
his master slumped across the table, the candle beside him burned to
extinction. Jacob let out a wheeze of disapproval. He put a hand on
Christopher's shoulder to shake him gently awake.
'Go
to bed, sir,' he whispered. 'Let me help you upstairs.'
'What's
that?' said the other drowsily.
'You
need some proper rest, sir.'
'Where
am I?'
'You
fell asleep over your work. Go to bed.'
'No,
no.' Christopher rubbed his eyes and shook himself awake. 'I have too much to
do, Jacob. Far too much.'
'You
have been saying that for weeks, sir. This is the third time in a row that you
have stayed up all night to struggle with your drawings.'
'There
is no struggle involved. It is a labour of love.' 'Show more love to yourself
and less to your work,' advised the old man. 'Flesh and blood can only
withstand so much, sir. You need sleep.'
'What
I need is food and drink. A hearty breakfast will revive me in no time at all.
Then I will be able to finish this last drawing.'
'Let
it wait, sir.'
'There
can be no delay, Jacob. Sir Ambrose expects the completed set today and he will
get them. Everything is riding on this commission. It could be the start of a
whole new career for me. That would mean money, Jacob. You would get your wages
on time for a change. There is a lot at stake here. And whatever happens, I
must not let my brother down. Henry went to great lengths to secure this
opportunity for me. I must take full advantage of it.'
'Even
if it means slaving away night and day?'
'Architecture
is a cruel master.'
Jacob
nodded. 'I will prepare your breakfast, sir.'
'One
moment,' said Christopher, raising a palm to detain him. 'Open those shutters
to let in some light then come and see what I was doing while you were
slumbering upstairs. I have not been idle.'
'That
is my complaint,' muttered the other.
He
opened the shutters, lit a fresh candle with his taper then carried it back to
the table. Christopher proudly spread out his drawings.
'Here
we are,' he said, beaming at his work. 'What do you think?'
'My
opinion is worthless, sir.'
'Not
to me, Jacob.'
'I
know nothing about designing a house.'
'Just
tell me if you would like to live in this one.'
He
stood back so that his servant could have a clear view. The old man ran a
watery eye over each drawing, moving from one to the other with increasing
admiration. He scratched his head in awe. The one over which he lingered most
was a drawing of the front elevation of the house. It was a handsome abode with
a regular facade, neat rectilinear outlines and square-headed doors and windows.
Six stone steps, into which an iron handrail had been set, led up to a portico
which comprised elegant pillars with a flat entablature and low pediment. The
house bore little resemblance to the Tudor dwellings which proliferated in the
city of Jacob's youth and was entirely free from the Gothic extravagances which
adorned so many public buildings before the Great Fire.
Jacob
was especially impressed with the sash windows, a Dutch invention now taken up
with enthusiasm in England. There were eighteen in all, including two which
served the attic rooms. The old man wondered how many more windows the house
contained and which unfortunate servant would be given the task of keeping them
all clean.
'It
is pretty, sir,' he said respectfully. 'Very, very pretty.'
'Thank
you, Jacob.'
'Anyone
would be privileged to live in such a place,'
'I
hope that Sir Ambrose Northcott shares your high opinion.'
'If
he does not, he must be blind. One question, if I may, sir,' he said, pointing
to the first of the drawings. 'Why are the cellars so large?'
'That
was the express wish of my client.'
'What
does he wish to keep down there?'
'Whatever
he wishes, Jacob. Mine is not to question the use to which he puts the
Similar Books
