He had been summoned to the Moidart’s summer residence in Eldacre Castle, and this time led through to the earl’s private living quarters. They were surprisingly spartan, lacking adornment of any kind. The furniture was comfortable, but far from new, the rugs threadbare. There were no curtains at the double aspect windows, and the frame of one window was split, water dripping through from the heavy rain outside. Despite the fire the room was draughty and cold. It seemed strange to Ramus that a man as rich as the Moidart should live in conditions akin to poverty. But then the man was cloaked in contradiction. A cold-hearted killer and an artist who produced works of dazzling beauty. Why should there not be other contradictory indications, he wondered?
The Moidart bade him sit – which was also surprising since he had never before offered Ramus a seat. It was with some trepidation that the apothecary sat in the earl’s presence.
‘I have decided to accept another commission,’ said the Moidart, lifting one of the letters Ramus had sent him. ‘You will arrange it.’
‘Of course, lord.’
‘You may keep two per cent of the commission.’
‘Thank you, but that is not necessary.’
‘I will decide what is necessary, apothecary.’
‘Yes, lord.’
The Moidart reached across to a small table, upon which stood a flagon of water and a single goblet. He poured himself a drink, and sat quietly for a while. Ramus did not know what he was supposed to do. He had not been dismissed. So he sat awkwardly, waiting for the Moidart to speak. When at last he did, he did not look at Ramus. ‘I was taught that to earn money with one’s hands was below the dignity of a nobleman. Yet I took great pleasure in the Finance’s commission. I thought perhaps it was because he was my enemy and that I had fooled him in some way. This was not so. Now I shall paint again. I do not however desire anyone to know that the work is mine.’ His cold eyes held to Ramus’s gaze. ‘It is against my instincts to trust anyone, apothecary, and yet it seems I must trust you.’
‘And you can, my lord.’
During the next few years the Moidart earned more than two and a half thousand pounds through his paintings. They were hung in great houses all across the Varlish realm.
Now the two men met once a month. There was little in the way of easy conversation, and yet Ramus had come to look forward to the encounters. Indeed he had come to like the Moidart. It remained a puzzle to the little apothecary.
As he sat in the gallery he found himself admiring the portrait of the Moidart’s grandmother. He had last seen her just before her death fourteen years before, a bent and heavily wrinkled woman nearing ninety. In this portrait she was young, and incredibly beautiful. What captivated Ramus was her eyes, one green one gold, just like her great-grandson’s. Ramus had always liked Gaise Macon, and had often wondered how such a charming young man could have been sired by a monster like the Moidart. Now he felt he knew, for when they discussed painting the Moidart seemed human – almost affable at times. The coldness left his voice, and he spoke with passion and feeling about light, shade and colour; about shadow and perspective, composition and texture. In the beginning Ramus would say little. The Moidart was a touchy host at best. One did not initiate conversation. One merely responded. On one particular afternoon, however, Ramus – enduring a pounding headache which cut through his usual caution – had ventured a criticism of a particular work. ‘It seems crowded,’ he said. Almost as soon as the words were uttered he felt a chill go through him.
‘You are right, apothecary,’ said the Moidart, peering at the landscape. ‘Too much is happening there. Excellent. I shall repaint it.’
Now Ramus felt at ease speaking frankly about the paintings, though he never made the mistake of speaking frankly about anything else.
The captain of the castle, Galliott the Borderer, came out of the Moidart’s office and greeted Ramus. Galliott was a handsome middle-aged man, broad-shouldered and every inch the soldier. ‘Good day to you, apothecary. I trust you are in good health.’