The King's Artist

Ch 9: Dwindling Memorabilia

It wasn't until Adelaide began unloading her things that she realized, once again, how few things she actually had. She didn't even have as much painting equipment as she thought she did. It didn't help, though, that the room they'd given her was immense. In comparison, Adelaide was sure her entire home could fit into the room at least twice. This, as a result, left a lot of open space.

Adelaide sat a little stunned on her new bed as she stared at the entire space. It looked like most of the other rooms, but this one was especially precious because it was hers. Staring straight ahead, Adelaide took in the small fireplace that occupied the center of the opposite wall, heating the entire room despite its size. It was joined by a dresser and a stand that had a pitcher filled with water placed upon it. Brick floors were covered by thick red carpets that matched the bedspread and curtains. The small windows didn't allow for much light, so Adelaide left them drawn open and, when accompanied by multiple candles, the room had decent exposure and fewer shadows.

The sack that Adelaide had brought was laying in the middle of the room; its content splayed around in a circle. Adelaide scratched her head as she took in the few brushes and bottles of paints that resided beside small, worn canvases. For some reason, back home, everything had looked much more significant. Now, her once-prized possessions seemed dull and used besides so much wealth. Adelaide should have known, though. Most of the supplies were older than her, dating back to her father's youth. The canvases were makeshift and yellowing while the brushes needed new bristles and a long cleaning. The paint bottles, too, were nearly empty and Adelaide was sure she'd squeezed every last drop from them already.

Adelaide was momentarily distracted by the situation when a knock sounded at her door. Without receiving an answer, Henry left himself in with a grin. Adelaide was already growing used to Henry's behavior and didn't even say anything at his sudden entrance. Henry, on the other hand, stopped midway into her room and glanced between her and the pile of supplies in the center of the room.

"What are you doing?" He mused as he moved closer to her. A small smirk moved onto his lips as he took a seat beside Adelaide. Adelaide sighed loudly as she looked back at her few belongings.

"I thought I had more things, but I guess not," Adelaide said solemnly. Noticing the tone of her voice, Henry's smirk faltered and eventually dropped from his face. He scowled and retook in the situation.

"What's the problem with what you have?" Henry questioned looking back at the material and moving from the bed towards them. He picked through the things and steadily realized the obvious.

"They always seemed... I don't know... more beautiful when I was back home," Adelaide said softly, observing her supplies. "I grew up in a really small house, and all the things my father and mother had left behind before they passed had seemed more precious when they were the only objects in a dust-covered, old shack. I think I was fooling myself though." She paused. "For the longest time, I didn't dare even to touch the stuff they left behind. Especially my father's things. I knew how important the painting supplies had been to him and how much he had sacrificed to obtained just a minimal amount of stuff, so I didn't want to waste any of it. Marian, a friend of mine, then told me one day that my father wouldn't have wanted his things to go to waste and that me using his things would be a way of carrying on his dream. So I did eventually start painting and drawing with his things, but only after practicing a lot with other supplies that I sto-borrowed," Adelaide hastily stuttered in correction.

Henry nodded his head with a small smirk.

"I can relate to things seeming better under different circumstances," he stated as he sat down beside Adelaide on the bed. She looked up at him curiously meeting his dark, brown eyes straight on. It was then she suddenly realized how close they were. While Adelaide blushed slightly, Henry seemed un-phased and didn't notice her behavioral shift or the way she started leaning away from him. "I never got to meet my father because he was killed before I was born, but my mother and my uncle both gave me a lot of things to remember him by. So I mainly learned what he was like through those who had known him." Adelaide could relate to that. She was in the same predicament. Only really knowing her parents through the words of other people.

"Anyway, when I was five, my mother gave me some clothing and things that had belonged to my father that she had kept even after remarrying. I thought they were the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. I even imaged that they smelled just like him." Henry's eyes glittered with nostalgia. "I'd wear most of the shirts around the estate despite them being way too big for me, and I was so proud because they were things that had belonged to my dad. But then I started to notice the things that the other boys were wearing. Then suddenly the clothes that I had found so precious were outdated, old, and insignificant to me because they were nothing but a dead man's things" he sighed in embarrassment and shame of the memory.

"What you have to remember, though, Arthur," he began speaking again with a different degree of seriousness now. "Is that this supplies, no matter how worn and dingy it may look to you or anyone else, it's still belonged to your father. It was something he touched and held and used. You carry a part of him with you despite him being gone." Henry smiled comfortingly. "That's what my mother said to me anyway after I complained to her."

Adelaide laughed at Henry's sideways smile. She couldn't place her finger on it, but he had a way of making her feel better that no one else had been able to before. Adelaide looked back to the used material in the center of the room and smiled. She could almost picture her father painting on one of the canvases with paint smeared on his face and his shirt. In another life, Adelaide imagined her mother scolding her father's sloppiness and rubbing away paint splatters from his cheek before kissing him lovingly anyway. Having only been a year old when they died, Adelaide, of course, didn't remember anything about them specifically, but she had always fantasized that they were beautiful people madly in love with each other.

Henry must have noticed the solemn expression of Adelaide's face because he gave her a soft pat on the back before rising to his feet.

"Well, since it looks like you're nearly out of painting and drawing material," Henry said with his hands on his hips while glancing at the sad pile of material. "Why don't I get you some new ones? The Duke did say I could request anything."

Adelaide's head shot up at Henry. Her jaw hung slightly open as she looked for words to describe her surprise. She was going to refuse when Henry raised a hand in front of her face, successfully silencing her.

"Since it's not technically my money, you don't have to feel bad about taking it, and also," he smiled. "This is the least I could do for you since you've been dragged into all of this."

Not wanting to say no to the gesture, Adelaide merrily nodded her head in excitement. She ignored the flop of her stomach at Henry's smile and looked away flustered.

Well, she thought to herself bewildered, this is a new feeling.