‘Me too,’ said Joe. ‘The Gaffer’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.’
‘And I have to get to the theatre,’ added Lil. ‘Why don’t you walk with me?’ she suggested to Sophie. ‘It’s on your way home anyway.’
Sophie was only too glad to agree. She didn’t want their jolly afternoon to be over just yet – and besides, Jack’s sudden arrival meant that she and Lil hadn’t had as much chance to talk over tea as she had hoped. But as they walked towards the theatre, she soon found that her brother was the only thing that Lil wanted to talk about.
‘I still can’t believe Jack has left Oxford! He’s always been such a goody two shoes. You know, top of the class at school, captain of the cricket team and all that sort of rot.’ She paused for a moment. ‘But then, in another way, I suppose I’m not exactly surprised. He’s always had a way of managing to do exactly what he wants.’
As they approached the theatre, she was still talking: ‘I am awfully glad he’s here though. It will be fun to have him in London – just as long as he isn’t going to start trying to boss me around. I just hope he likes Joe – and Billy, of course – and that they like him.’ She looked over at Sophie slyly. ‘He liked you awfully, you know.’
‘Oh don’t be silly.’
‘He did! He told me so on the way home.’
By now they had come to the stage door, and it was time to say goodbye. Sophie turned away from the bright lights of the theatre, and headed back towards her lodgings. For once though, she didn’t stop to collect the evening paper. She wasn’t thinking about the Baron – instead, she found herself turning over the memory of meeting Jack Rose. Surely he couldn’t really have told Lil that he liked her awfully? In spite of her long day in the Millinery Department, she found that she was, after all, feeling rather cheerful.
Painted in approximately 1455, this rare surviving painting from Casselli’s ‘Dragon Sequence’ was given as a wedding gift to Her Majesty Queen Victoria by her husband, Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha . . .
Randolph Lyle, A Short History of the Royal Art Collection, 1901 (from the Spencer Institute Library)
Leo paused for a moment, tapping her pen against the paper, unsure what else to say. She had never been very good at putting her feelings into words. What’s more, it was difficult to express just how different her life was here in London to life at Winter Hall. There, the fields and woods would be golden now and the air would smell of smoke and moss. Father and Vincent would be preparing for their autumn shooting parties; Mother would be packing for her European trip.
But autumn meant something else to Leo now. It meant rain on the windows of the Antiques Room in the morning; afternoons spent walking through the grand spaces of London’s museums and galleries; or sitting on the rug before the fire in her room, reading art history books. It meant a jumble of raincoats and umbrellas on the underground railway in the morning; the steamed-up windows of the little tea shop around the corner from the Spencer, where all the art students went to eat buns and drink endless cups of coffee.
Most of all, it meant long hours working in the studio. Professor Jarvis was working them all hard, but no matter how much effort she put in, Leo had found she could not entirely avoid the sharp edge of his tongue. His criticisms rattled her confidence – and she knew she was not the only one. A couple of the other first-year students had left, unable to handle Professor Jarvis’s acid remarks – but Leo kept on, refusing to allow herself to be discouraged.
When she was not at the Spencer, she was usually at Sinclair’s. Working on Mr Lyle’s exhibition had turned out to be more enjoyable than she had expected. It was fun spending time at the beautiful department store, but most of all, she had been surprised by how much she had enjoyed the chance to get to know the other students who were helping with the exhibition – particularly Jack Rose and the red-haired, freckled boy, Tom Smith, who everyone called ‘Smitty’ – though she was still a little intimidated by their outspoken friend, Connie.
Now, as she sat in her room, hesitating over how to say all this in her letter to Lady Tremayne, she found herself thinking back to that afternoon, when Mr Lyle had gathered the students together to see the unwrapping of one of the most important works in the exhibition. It had arrived earlier that day in a large motor van painted with the Royal crest, and two men had personally delivered it into Mr Lyle’s own hands. Usually Mr Lyle allowed the students to unwrap the paintings, wearing white cotton gloves and following his careful instructions, but this particular painting was so precious that he was handling it himself. The students had gathered in a semi-circle around him to watch.
‘This is one of the finest pieces in our exhibition,’ he had said, as he gently removed the painting from its wrappings, and stared at it reverently. ‘I am honoured to say that His Majesty the King himself has lent us this magnificent piece.’
Leo gazed at the painting. It was much smaller than the other paintings in the exhibition, but it at once drew the eye towards it. It was clear that it was extremely old, and yet its colours were lush and intense. The central image was of a dragon, with a twisting, serpent-like body, magnificent wings and a coiling tail. It was painted in a rich emerald green that almost seemed to glow. The background was elaborately patterned with gold leaf in ornate symbols and tiny stars. Mr Lyle stared at it for a long moment before he spoke.
‘Is anyone familiar with this painting?’ he asked. ‘Yes – Miss Clifton?’
‘It’s part of the Casselli Dragon sequence,’ offered Connie.
‘Very good,’ said Mr Lyle. ‘That is quite right. This is in fact one of only two surviving paintings from the sequence thought to have been painted by the artist Benedetto Casselli in Venice in 1455. Miss Clifton, do you know how many paintings we believe there were originally?’
‘Was it seven?’ said Connie, a little less confidently this time.
‘Oh excellent, Miss Clifton,’ said Mr Lyle, and Connie looked pleased. ‘Yes. Seven paintings, each one depicting a dragon. This is known as The Green Dragon. I am sorry to tell you that the other surviving painting, The White Dragon, was most unfortunately stolen from Mr Doyle’s gallery on Bond Street earlier this year.’
‘That’s right – I read about it in the paper!’ exclaimed Smitty. ‘Wasn’t it supposed to be worth a whole lot of money?’
Lyle looked troubled. ‘The loss of such a treasure is a genuine tragedy. I only hope that the thieves have the sense to take proper care of the painting, and that it will find its way back into the hands of a museum or a reputable collector before long.
‘Now, as Mr Smith rightly points out, both The White Dragon and The Green Dragon are of great value. They are particularly special because of their unusual subject matter. There has been much speculation about why the artist chose the dragon as his subject, though of course it is unlikely we will ever know for sure. But the painting is a fine example of the craftsmanship of the time. I urge you to study it closely.
‘Moving onwards, I am very pleased to say that I have another special painting to show you today, painted by Gainsborough around 1780. This