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his seat. ‘You were born before your time. Your mother was weak from hunger when she arrived here. She died within hours after your birth.’
    Daniel’s hand shook as he stabbed at the initials TLH. ‘Do you know who he was?’
    â€˜I’m no authority on art but I’ve heard tell that a young local artist called Thomas Linton Hayes went south to the metropolis and his paintings hang in various galleries.’ He looked sharply at Daniel. ‘There is no proof he was your father. Perhaps Mary Ann Browne was no more to him than one of his models.’
    Daniel pushed aside his angry thought. Not my father? Then why am I driven to be a painter? He listened intently to the vicar’s description of the artist.
    â€˜Quite well favoured but with the look of a man used to indulging himself.’ The vicar cupped his hand around an invisible glass and raised it in quick movements to his lips.
    When Daniel asked if the artist had wanted to see the babe, the vicar appeared to be discomforted. Daniel had not been expected to survive so the man had left money for a Christian burial.
    â€˜Most decent of him.’ Daniel was unable to conceal his bitterness. ‘But I don’t need his name. I’ll make my mam’s name so famous that Thomas Linton Hayes will wish he had acknowledged my existence.’
    â€˜Judge as ye shall be judged, Daniel,’ the vicar warned.
    â€˜I beg you. Tell me anything you know about my mother. You alone remember her.’
    â€˜No ordinary farmer’s daughter. Extraordinary hooded green eyes. Her hair covered her like a cape – in the way of Mary Magdalene.’ He lowered his voice discreetly. ‘She had that milk-white flesh those artist chaps favour. Hayes told me she posed for his triptych of Greek mythological figures. Something about Mary Ann being his perfect Clytie.’
    The vicar explained the ancient Greek legend of the mortal girl so in love with the pagan god Apollo she watched his sun chariot cross the sky every day. When she died of unrequited love the gods pitied her and changed her into the sunflower turning its head to follow the sun.
    Daniel carefully re-rolled the scroll. ‘Thank you for this precious link with her.’
    The vicar made Daniel kneel to receive his final blessing then handed him a bible.
    â€˜May this keep you on the straight and narrow, lad. Go with God and peace be with you.’
    In the barn Daniel hastily assembled his few possessions. He pulled his cloth cap down over his brow and marched out into the sunlight, swinging his bundle as he passed the milestone marking the miles to Chester – and his new life.
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    Hurrying along the Rows in Chester, Daniel experienced an explosion of colour, sounds and aromas that intoxicated his senses – cakes and bread smelling of cinnamon and spices; the perfumes of flowers that wafted from barrows; the giddy laughter of servant girls larking on their rare May Day holiday.
    He halted before a shop frontage bearing a sign that transfixed him. Art Dealer and Picture Framer – Prop. Maynard Plews. In the window was a painting of a blue-robed Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus, her youthful features shining with serene adoration. The child looked more like a miniature adult than any babe Daniel had seen, but his discovery of the painting was a moment of sheer magic. The printed card read ‘Artist Unknown c. seventeenth century’. In Daniel’s imagination the Virgin’s sweet face was now fused with that of his dead mother.
    Taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, Daniel entered the gallery. The oblong space was deserted, its walls covered with tiers of paintings. Enchanted, he darted between them like an excited butterfly drawing pollen from a hothouse of exotic flowers.
    Suddenly Daniel realised he was being watched by a grey-bearded man whose pale blue eyes glinted behind his spectacles. There was something about