Chapter 10
As Rosalyne gathered eggs from her hens, she looked forward to another day in Edward’s presence. Though part of her felt guilty that he would remain again to help her in her uncle’s workshop, she enjoyed his company too much to insist he leave her on her own. Besides, after today, her wrist would be sufficiently healed so that he could seek work in the city. She only needed both hands when readying the wood and all of those stages would be completed today. Her right hand did all the work when it came to sketching and painting.
And this would be the most important piece she had ever worked on.
She fed the chickens once her basket was filled and entered the house, surprised to hear voices. She realized both Edward and her uncle had risen. Coming into the main room, she saw them seated at the table with food in front of them.
“Good morning, Rosalyne,” Uncle Temp called out cheerfully. “Come join us and break your fast.”
She took a seat and marveled, “When did you ever wake up in such jovial spirits?”
He gave her a sheepish smile. “Mayhap Edward’s concoction has something to do with it.”
“Good morning,” Edward said to her. “I have already mixed some of the herbs to suppress your uncle’s cough and he partook of it.”
“I feel like a new man,” Uncle Temp proclaimed. “Younger certainly, though my sides and chest still ache from coughing so much.”
“Alas, I have no cure for that,” Edward lamented. “Still, under Rosalyne’s supervision, your panel will be ready for your brush to touch it later today.”
“You had Edward’s help?” Uncle Temp asked her.
“Aye. He served as my hands and did quite well. I will have him apply the layers of gesso today, so by early afternoon the panel will be ready for you to start.” Rosalyne gave him a pointed look and saw that he understood what to say next.
“Then I will try my best today to sketch out on it what I will paint later.”
“Only if you feel up to it,” Edward said.
They ate in companionable silence and then her uncle said, “I have missed the sunshine while lying abed.”
Rosalyne told Edward, “Uncle Temp enjoys walking the streets of Canterbury as much as he does painting.”
“Instead of walking, how about sitting in the sunshine?” Edward suggested. “The fresh air might do you some good and you can enjoy it and still conserve your strength for your drawing. I could place a chair outside the door for you.”
“I would appreciate that, Edward. Thank you.”
“I’ll do it now.” He rose and picked up a chair to carry outside.
The moment he stepped through the door, Rosalyne said, “Remember, Edward has helped me prepare the panel and knows I always do that for you.”
“But we must keep the secret that you will be the one who produces the final work for the chapel,” Uncle Temp added. “Once it is in place and has the archbishop’s approval, I will let Courtenay know you were responsible. Only then can Edward—and the rest of the world—know what you are capable of.”
Edward rejoined them. “Would you like me to assist you, Temp? I have found the perfect spot where you can soak up the sunshine and speak to passing neighbors.”
“That is very thoughtful of you, Edward.” He allowed Edward to help him to his feet.
“I will clear the table,” Edward said to her. “Your wrist still needs a last day of rest in its sling with no straining.”
Rosalyne nodded in agreement and sat until he returned and took everything into the kitchen for her. She heard him rinsing the cups and putting away things. He was a kind, thoughtful man, handsome and well-spoken.
And his kisses stirred something unnamed within her.
She wondered if he would ever kiss her again and thought not. She would not encourage him to do so. He seemed too polite to try again without her permission. Rosalyne supposed their brief encounter had been one of curiosity on his part. He had not attempted to touch her since. His tone had been light and friendly. She hoped they would become—and remain—friends.
Though a hidden part of her desired much more.
“I am ready for mixing the gesso,” he said. “And proud that I remembered such an unusual name.”
She had been lost in thought and had not realized he stood beside her. Rosalyne rose and accompanied him to her uncle’s workshop, where the panel awaited them. Checking to see that the linen had dried completely, she found it to her satisfaction.
“Time to create our gesso,” she said, showing him where the chalk and glue were located.
Edward ground the chalk to a fine powder. “Is this also how you would grind pigment for the tempera paints?”
“Aye.”
It took him time to perfect the gesso mixture but once he did, the process went quickly. Edward would apply a thin layer across the linen-covered poplar and then they would talk for a few minutes before he stroked another coat onto the wood.
Several hours passed until Rosalyne decided he could stop.
Edward studied it a few minutes. “This was a laborious process but I see now how hard and smooth the surface truly is. The layers of gesso have turned it opaque and a brilliant white.”
“Aye. The treated surface will actually help reflect the light of the paints.”
He gave her a smile. “This has been most interesting, Rosalyne. I know I will never enter a church and view a painted panel in the same way.”
She laughed. “And this was the easy part.”
“So what will Temp do now?”
“Uncle will use the sketches Archbishop Courtenay approved as his guide and replicate them in charcoal directly onto the panel before he ever applies the paint. The most difficult aspect is to take his smaller drawings and transfer them to a much larger scale.”
“I can see how that might be complicated,” Edward said. “Has he ever had to start over? Add more layers of gesso to cover a mistake?”
Rosalyne shrugged. “Not that I know of. Mayhap in his early days but Uncle Temp is skilled and has much experience. He says besides getting the sketch to his liking, the most difficult aspect is mixing the paints correctly.”
“And you also do that for him?”
“He has given me that task for the last four years. In my youth, I would watch him as he tinkered with amounts of pigment and yolk. Later, he supervised me in mixing them, much as I have done with you these past two days.”
“Will you be able to grind the pigments? Has your wrist healed enough to do so?”
She saw the concern in his eyes. “I think by tomorrow I will be fine, Edward.”
“May I examine it?”
Her gaze met his. Rosalyne swallowed at the intensity in it. She didn’t trust herself to speak and simply nodded.
Edward moved toward her. His unique masculine scent invaded the space between them, causing her to grow lightheaded. She stiffened her knees, willing them not to buckle beneath her.
Leaning into her, he reached behind her neck and untied the sling, bringing the ends over her shoulders and drawing them away. Rosalyne kept from throwing her arms about his neck and pulling his mouth down to hers.
Barely.
He tossed one end of the cloth over his shoulder and lifted her arm by the elbow. Bracing her arm, he placed it against his own forearm to steady it and then used his free hand to touch her wrist. The callused fingertips glided against her skin, gently prodding it, encircling it. Rosalyne couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.
Then Edward released it and guided her arm down to her side. He stepped behind her and reached around, using the material to recreate the makeshift sling once more. As he tied the two ends together, she could feel his warm breath on the nape of her neck. Her belly flip-flopped wildly. She began to turn toward him, only to realize he moved away.
“That should hold. You aren’t feeling any more pain, are you?”
“Nay.” It surprised Rosalyne that she was able to get the word out.
“I think by tomorrow, you will be as good as new. If not, I can remain and grind your pigments for you.” He thought a moment. “In fact, could I do so this afternoon? That way, you would only have to mix in the egg yolk and stir. You could do that with your right hand.”
“All right.” She swallowed hard, willing herself to regain the power of speech. “I will show you what can be ground. Mixing paints can sometimes be a slow process. Or Uncle will use one color in part of the painting and then I add more pigment if he needs a deeper shade for shadowing or another section of the painting.” She sighed, trying to regain control of her emotions. “But having the pigment already ground will definitely save me time.”
They spent another hour together, Edward grinding various pigments as she enjoyed watching the muscles in his forearms and his long, lean fingers at work. Finally, she decided he could stop, knowing she had more than enough pigment at this point to mix and paint large sections of the triptych.
“I don’t mind fetching the eggs for you and mixing the paints,” he said.
“Uncle Temp needs to be here for that. We won’t need to begin that process until he has transferred the ideas from his sketches onto the wood.”
Edward propped one elbow on the table and asked, “So why tempera paints? What is so special about them?”
“Egg tempera is incredible durable. Generally, it is unaffected by either temperature or humidity and it is long-lasting. When a painting is completed with egg tempera paints, nothing can match the satin sheen of its finish or how vivid the colors are.”
“It sounds almost too good to be true. Are there any drawbacks to using it?”
Rosalyne laughed. “Tempera is thin when applied.”
“Like the gesso?”
“Even thinner, which means is dries rapidly. An artist must truly commit when using it and use quick, deliberate brushstrokes in a crosshatching pattern. That helps add depth to the composition of the piece. When finished, the surface is a smooth matte.”
He frowned. “That sounds complicated.”
“Artists have used egg tempera paints for over a thousand years.”
“Then ’twill probably be used for a thousand more.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Unless you or your uncle can invent something new.”
Being in Edward’s presence had caused all thoughts of her uncle to flee. “Oh, I should go check on Uncle. I wonder if he is still sitting outside after so long a time.”
Rosalyne found the chair moved back inside and Uncle Temp snoring softly in his bed. She returned and told Edward, “He is resting now but I know he enjoyed being in the sunlight.”
“I used the last of the horehound this morning when I mixed the tonic for him. If we are through for the day, I would like to return to the market and purchase a bit more to have on hand in case his cough returns. Could I bring back anything for you?”
She thought a moment. “Since today is Friday, the fish market is open. Let me get a few coins for you, for I would like to make fish for our meal tonight.”
He waved her away. “I have enough to spare. Do you favor a certain kind of fish? Or does Temp?”
“Choose your favorite and I will cook it however you like,” Rosalyne said. “It will also allow me to save the bones and burn them. Once ground, they are what will become the black in Uncle’s painting.”
Edward looked at her as if she might have gone mad and shook his head. “If you don’t mind, I may be gone for a while and wander about Canterbury some, even take a look at the work going on at the wall.”
“Then I will see you later.” He gave her a quick nod and left the cottage.
Rosalyne retrieved the sketches so she could study them and decide what colors would be needed. She laid out the ones she wanted to use for the panel and deliberated on the colors she would use for each part. It was important that she see the entire painting in her mind before she committed to drawing anything on the wood.
Satisfied with her final vision for the triptych, Rosalyne retrieved her charcoal. Bowing her head, she offered a quick prayer to the Living Christ, begging Him to guide her hands as she worked to glorify Him through this panel. Selfishly, she added her wish for Archbishop Courtenay’s resounding approval and acceptance of her as the artist of this work. If she had the holy man’s approval and it was made known that she had produced the triptych, mayhap she would begin to receive her own commissions. That would allow Uncle Temp to stop working and she could be the one who provided for their needs.
Yet deep within, she knew this would never occur. A woman, as an artist, would never be accepted in society.
With a deep breath, Rosalyne began to outline various people and objects on the glistening surface. It had done her good to go through the preparation process with Edward. Since she had done it so many times before, she went into it sometimes without being mindful of her actions. But this piece was much too important for her to grow careless. She had enjoyed sharing each step along the way with Edward, seeing his wonder as the bare wood became something different and important.
Now, she needed every bit of her talent to produce a work of art worthy to reside in Canterbury Cathedral. Thousands of pilgrims would see this each year when they visited Trinity Chapel to pay homage to the martyred Thomas Becket and the Black Prince. Knowing how many people would view her panel should have made her nervous but Rosalyne instead felt uplifted, believing she could accomplish anything.
The charcoal glided effortlessly over the poplar and she lost herself in the drawing as it slowly sprang to life. Excitement grew within her. She couldn’t wait to mix her paints and apply them. This would be her best effort. Already, she knew Uncle Temp would be so proud of her.
Finally, she lifted the charcoal away and stepped back to study what she had done. Rosalyne cocked her head one way and then another, happy with what she had accomplished. Her fingers itched to pick up her sable brush and paint over these outlines, then fill them in with color.
“Rosalyne?”
She froze. Edward’s voice came from behind her. She had lost all track of time and should have been aware of her surroundings. Rosalyne gripped the charcoal in her fist to hide it from him. She plastered a huge smile on her face and turned to greet him, hiding her drawing hand with its charcoal slightly behind her in the folds of her gown.
“Uncle has done a wondrous job!” she proclaimed. “I cannot wait to see the paint added to these figures.”
Rosalyne saw the question in his eyes turn to anger.
Edward marched toward her and grasped her shoulders, towering over her. “Your uncle did not draw this, Rosalyne. You did.”