A Noble Cause

X - Chamomile

Ten: Chamomile

On their way back to Bright Manor, they talked about growing up and their families, as Egbert's had sparked memories of Isaac's. Amidst their conversations, the matter of the garden came up and Isaac could not help but bring up how amazed he was at it. He omitted the story Mrs Cawley had told him, naturally, but did compliment the roses.

As they were now making the opposite way by the same road, Isaac got to pay better attention to the other side of it and he pointed out what seemed like ruins by a hill in the distance. There was something about it that captivated him: something ominous about them, which he could perceive even from a distance. It was as though they spoke to him: they stroke deeper into the unknown and it was so very seductive. Isaac could not make out anything other than that from where he sat, so he asked Egbert if he knew what that was.

"Ah, there are different stories depending on who you ask," Egbert told him. "But what I was taught at school is that it was an old chapel dating back from the Tudor era; Henry VII, my teacher said. According to him, all these lands belonged to a nobleman from Malmesbury and he had the chapel built to celebrate his wedding."

"It is a lovely reason if it is true."

"True or not, one thing's for certain: the chapel was catholic and Henry VIII wasn't. Now it is unclear whether anyone bothered to come here and destroy it, but, regardless, it fell into disuse and subsequent ruin. It's still a very picturesque place, though."

"Indeed. Are there any painters in Malmesbury?"

Egbert shook his head.

"Not that I am aware of. Plus, if there ever was, I think it likely they left. No, Malmesbury isn't the type of city to host artists. That's what bigger cities are made for. London for instance."

Isaac remembered the countless painters, sculptors, composers and musicians he met during his outings in London. Some hopelessly following their dreams, others truly very talented and a few who had already been employed by minor patrons. Usually, a middle-class family who wanted to have their portrait painted and could not afford the best painters or who needed a piano tutor for their daughter as they sought a way into the societal conventions of the upper class. If only it was this easy.

Nonetheless, all of these people wanted to achieve something bigger than that and reach levels of fame and popularity that not one of them ever would. One needs more than talent to succeed and one always has. There has always been an occult force behind art: some call it decorum, others good sense, but, in the end, it always circles back to a select few praising themselves.

No, London was not a city which could house yet another artist. They had better stay in Malmesbury, for it was far more likely that they would have their work appreciated there than if they went to London.

As they unloaded the cart in Bright Manor, Isaac took the list from the basket and noticed something was missing.

"We forgot the parsley," he said. "Oh, how could the milkman forget! Then again, silly me, I should have double-checked it when he gave it to me."

"Isaac..." Egbert called, but he did not listen.

"Oh, but for him to forget, then it must be something Olivia doesn't buy very often, right?"

"Isaac, if..."

"And if that's the case, then she truly must need it at once and now..."

"Isaac," Egbert said, putting a hand on Isaac's shoulder, whose eyes quickly darted from it to his eyes, where he found some peace. "There is parsley in the garden. Come by later and get it."