Gentleman: A Novel, The by Leo Forrest

Author:Leo, Forrest [Leo, Forrest]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, Horror, Novel
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2016-08-16T06:00:00+00:00

‘Of course I do!’

‘Bosch and Bruegel,’ says Lancaster. ‘Who copied whom?’

‘What?’ Lizzie is becoming flustered. Lancaster charges on.

‘Who’s Gustave Courbet?’

‘A painter.’

‘What did he paint?’

‘PAINTINGS.’

‘Who sculpted Michelangelo’s David?’

‘I DON’T KNOW!’

‘Michelangelo’s David,’ he says, and even I have an inkling.

‘Oh,’ says Lizzie, slumping, defeated. ‘I have decided I hate you.’

But Lancaster is not done with her. ‘Who painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Ashley, I’m not stupid!’ she yells, rallying. ‘Even I know who da Vinci is.’

Lancaster just looks at her. I do not know who painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, but from the expression on his face I gather that it was not da Vinci. (I am tempted to exclaim that I now know that he designed flying machines that wouldn’t fly—but I restrain myself.)

‘Damn,’ says Lizzie. She turns her attention to me, acknowledging my presence for the first time in too long. ‘Nellie!’

I prepare myself for the bombardment. ‘What?’ I say wearily.

‘You have been decidedly remiss,’ says Lizzie, ‘and I am furious with you. I am completely ignorant about art!’

‘And?’ I say. I am not looking for a fight. I am tired. I want only to read my Milton and find my wife.

‘And it’s all your fault! As my older brother it’s your duty to see I am educated in all things, but I know nothing about art!’

‘Neither do I,’ I say honestly.

‘EXACTLY!’ she yells. ‘I need Simmons. SIMMONS, WHERE ARE YOU?’

Simmons enters, looking aggrieved. ‘Do you know,’ he says, ‘there is a bell.’

‘This is no time for philosophy, Simmons,’ says Lizzie curtly. ‘Something awful has happened. Could you be a dear and run me an errand?’

‘Of course, Miss Elizabeth. Is everything alright?’

‘Oh, everything’s fine,’ she says. Her voice drips with sarcasm. ‘My silly brother and yourself have left a gaping hole in my education, that’s all. It seems I know nothing about art!’

‘Indeed, miss?’

‘Don’t be coy, Simmons. Who painted Wanderer in a Sea of Fog?’

‘Friedrich, miss,’ he answers promptly. ‘And I believe it’s Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog.’ How in the name of God did he know that? I must remember never to underestimate Simmons.

Lizzie, however, is displeased with his hidden knowledge. ‘DAMN IT! I am angry with you, Simmons. But I may possibly forgive you if you run out to Tompkins’s bookshop and get me the two best books on art history. And while you’re out, buy me an easel, some brushes, and a set of paints.’

‘What are you going to do with a paint set?’ I demand.

‘You can’t learn anything from the outside in, silly! If you really want to know about it, you have to do it for yourself.’ Well, that is sound. I approve, despite myself. It is as I have mentioned—Lizzie’s brain works maybe a little too like my own; I cannot for long disagree with anything she reasons out fully. ‘Any questions, Simmons?’ she asks.

‘None, miss, but it is my duty to point out that it is approaching midnight.’

‘So?’ When Lizzie has possession of an idea, she sometimes does not think things through in their entirety.

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