‘He is a very private man, lord, but I shall contact him on your behalf,’ said Ramus.
The Finance stood for a moment. ‘If he paints me a scene such as this the fifty pounds stands. I never met a rich artist, so tell him I require the painting before the autumn. Lots of mountains, mind. I like to look at mountains.’
‘I will, lord,’ said Ramus miserably.
After the Finance had gone Ramus sat quietly by the fire, wondering how to extricate himself from such an invidious position. The Finance was near as ruthless as the Moidart himself, and not a man to defy. Yet the Moidart loathed him. There was no way he would paint a picture for him.
Even so Ramus had gone to Eldacre Castle and requested a meeting. He had arrived in the Moidart’s private quarters on the topmost floor, and had stood nervously before the earl’s desk. Always before it had been the Moidart who had summoned the apothecary, and Ramus felt ill at ease having initiated the meeting. The Moidart sat back in his chair, his dark eyes watching the little man.
‘Make this brief, apothecary, for I have much to do today.’
‘Yes, lord. I… I have a problem that I am unable to resolve . . .’
‘Your problems do not interest me.’
‘Indeed no, lord. A patient visited me two nights ago . . .’
‘His name?’
Ramus had dreaded this moment. He took a deep breath. ‘It was the Finance.’
‘I know. He arrived with two retainers. What is the problem?’
‘He wanted to buy the painting you gave me. He offered me fifty pounds for it. I told him no.’
‘That was stupid.’
‘Perhaps so, lord, but I would not part with it for any amount of money,’ said Ramus. It was no lie, and Ramus was no flatterer. The transparent honesty of the statement took the Moidart by surprise. For a moment only the shock registered on his gaunt face, then he rose from his chair.
‘It seems the problem is therefore resolved,’ he said.
‘No, lord. The Finance has instructed me to contact the artist and commission a painting for him. He wishes to hang it in his castle.’
Ramus had never heard the Moidart laugh, nor even seen the man smile. But he laughed now. ‘The Finance wants to hang one of my paintings in bis castle?’ His laughter boomed out. ‘Ah, Ramus, what a fine treat.’ He walked to a tall window and stood staring out over the northern hills. Then he swung back. ‘Write to him. Tell him the artist is working on a larger painting and requires seventy-five pounds for it.’
‘Seventy-five, lord?’
‘Tell him you will have it delivered in two months.’
‘You . . . you will paint a picture for the Finance?’ asked Ramus, aghast. ‘It is said you . . . dislike him.’
‘Dislike does not begin to describe it. It will please me greatly, however, that he will unknowingly hang my painting on his wall. One day – when the time is right – I will let him know the name of the artist.’ The Moidart laughed again. ‘And now you must go-‘
Two months later Ramus stood again before the Moidart, handing him a bulging money pouch containing seventy-five gold coins. This time there was no laughter. The Moidart spread the money out on his desk and stared at it, his face pensive.
‘Is there a problem, lord?’ asked Ramus.
‘Did he like the painting?’
‘He was awed by it, sir, as was I. It was majestic.’ It was another mountain scene, only this time it was of a storm in a bay, waves crashing upon black rocks, gulls wheeling in the sky. ‘The Finance stood and stared at it for the longest time. His relatives were there also, and many retainers. They were all stunned by it.’
The Moidart sighed. ‘In all my life this is the first money I have ever earned with the skill of my hands. A most peculiar feeling. That will be all, Ramus.’
And yet it had not been. Other nobles had visited the Finance, and, similarly awestruck, had contacted Ramus. The word spread south about the mysterious artist and his magnificent work. The apothecary was inundated with requests. Not wishing to annoy the Moidart with another meeting Ramus sent the letters on to him.