The Painter's Apprentice by Charlotte Betts Page A

Beth’s and Cecily’s hands.
    ‘How very delightful to make the acquaintance of two such charming young ladies,’ he said.
    The intensity of his gaze made Beth tongue-tied but she was saved from embarrassment as it was time to sit for the performance.
    Cecily nudged Beth in the ribs. ‘I like the look of Noah’s friend,’ she whispered. ‘Have you ever
seen
a man so fine-looking?’
    Beth frowned at her. ‘Shh! The concert’s beginning.’
    The choir and the musicians filed into the hall and on to the dais. There was a momentary hush, someone coughed and scraped
     a chairacross the floor and, finally, it was quiet. Then the liquid notes of a flute broke the silence, soon joined by the other
     instruments.
    As the music flowed and swelled around her, Beth’s thoughts kept returning to the implications of Harriet’s news. If what
     she’d said was true and the Queen was pregnant, it could affect every person in the land. A son born to Roman Catholic Mary
     of Modena would take precedence over Anglican Princess Mary, the current heir. In that case there would be no restraining
     the King in his mission to convert every one of his subjects to Catholicism. And who knew what atrocities would take place
     if the King’s zeal overcame his moderation?
    A clear soprano voice as pure as spring water broke into Beth’s reverie, soaring up to the roof and filling the hall with
     sweetness. Cecily’s hand crept into Beth’s and she turned to smile tremulously at her as the final notes drew to a close.
    After a moment’s silence tumultuous applause and the thunder of stamping feet reverberated around the concert hall. A buzz
     of conversation broke out as the audience stood up and moved towards the refreshments.
    Lady Arabella waved her fingers at a dozen people and then abandoned her charges when she flitted away to gossip to an imposing
     dowager in puce silk, whose face was adorned with black patches cut in the shapes of a moon and stars.
    Noah came to lead Beth and Cecily through the throng towards Harry de Montford. ‘I believe I mentioned that I travelled to
     England in Harry’s company?’ he said.
    Cecily fluttered her eyelashes. ‘How very exciting that must have been, Mr de Montford.’
    ‘For me or for Noah?’ asked Harry. He raised one black winged eyebrow, a wicked gleam in his eye. ‘Noah was indisposed for
     the beginning of the journey and spent the rest of it watering his precious trees. Still, I managed to win a few games of
     cards with some of the other passengers; enough to pay for my passage, at least.’
    ‘How very clever of you!’ said Cecily, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes.
    ‘Wasn’t it?’
    Beth thought that his voice was as smooth as the honey syrup her mother made but with an aftertaste of something dangerous;
     nightshade perhaps? ‘And are you enjoying your visit to London, Mr de Montford?’ she asked.
    ‘Certainly I am, Miss Ambrose. There are some very lovely sights to see.’ He looked her up and down with admiring eyes and
     then glanced at Cecily. ‘Very lovely, indeed!’
    Discomfited, Beth felt her cheeks become warm.
    ‘Take no notice of Harry,’ said Noah. ‘He can’t resist a pretty lady.’
    Beth was saved from further awkwardness when Samuel brought her a glass of burnt wine. ‘Did you enjoy the music?’ he asked.
    She gasped as a man pushing through the throng jogged her elbow, causing her to spill her drink. As she mopped at the stain
     on her skirt, Samuel began to chat to Noah and she couldn’t help overhearing the loud conversation of a group of men a few
     feet away.
    ‘The Queen’s priests have predicted it will be a boy.’
    ‘Papist babble!’
    ‘Well, they have at least a fifty per cent chance of being right.’ The speaker began to honk with laughter, his jowls shaking
     in mirth.
    One of the party, a dour-faced man in a grey wig, said, ‘You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face, Farnham, if there
     is a papist prince.