The Master & the Muses Read Online Free PDF Page A

been unprepared for further questions. I scolded myself mentally. “Um…the Cremorne, ” I lied again, my stomach protesting my deceit.
    She patted my cheek. “Well, it sounds lovely, and it would do you good to get out a bit more. So I shouldn’t plan on you for supper, then?” she asked.
    I shook my head. “You best not wait on me tonight. I will be sure to catch the ferry by ten o’clock.”
    â€œPerhaps I should send your papa down to the dock to fetch you. I don’t like the idea of you without a chaperone, especially at that hour.”
    â€œI’ll be fine, Mama. None of the other girls will have their papas meeting them. I’ll be fine.” I hastened to gather up a few items before she could think of more questions to ask.
    â€œHelen?”
    I heard my name as I headed down the front path and turned to find her holding my parasol out to me.
    â€œYour skin, you know how you burn. Don’t forget to use this.”
    â€œThank you, Mum. Stop fretting now. I’ll be fine,” I assured her.
    The morning was brilliant, the sun warm on my face as the boat ferried me across the river. The stench was the only thingmarring my delight at having managed to get away from the house with so little inquisition.
    I hurried along the cobblestone street wishing I could afford the carriage ride, so I would not be wilted by the time I reached Mr. Rodin. I rounded the corner of the gallery and there he was pacing out front. He stopped and checked his stopwatch. Having no such luxury of my own, I took my time from the toll of Parliament’s new clock tower. “Mr. Rodin,” I said breathlessly, forcing a smile as I slowed to a respectable pace.
    â€œMiss Bridgeton.” The peel of the tower bells sounded. “Splendid, you’re right on time.”
    He offered me his arm and we went inside. The Royal Gallery was quite beautiful, room after room of high-polished floors and great high ceilings. Pictures were hung in ornate gold frames, stacked next to one another on the walls at eye level and upward.
    â€œYou want to be able to get the spot at eye level,” Mr. Rodin explained. “That’s how you know the committee approves of your work.”
    â€œAnd where is your brother’s work, Mr. Rodin?” I asked, searching the wall as if I would recognize his work when I saw it.
    â€œThird row from the top…over there. It’s a brilliant piece. It should have been lower. But my brother has issues with conforming to the committee’s wishes.”
    He smiled at me when I gave him a questioning look.
    â€œThomas quit the academy under protest of the teachings here. He’s never really quite gotten back on track with the committee. He doesn’t have a number of highly influential friends, as I mentioned.” He looked at the painting. “Truthfully, Miss Bridgeton, I think deep down he wished the committee would judge his work on its own merit, and not on Thomas’s reputation.”
    I studied the painting as best as I could from my vantage point. It was a lovely portrait of a woman barely covered by a luxuriousblue drape. It was the light in her eyes that struck me the most. They seemed so full of life.
    â€œYou mustn’t let this influence your decision, Miss Bridgeton. Often in life, it is the geniuses who are the least understood.”
    â€œOh, I do understand that.” I slanted him a glance and he returned it with a smile. William’s solid belief in his brother’s work was what made Thomas’s painting stand apart from the rest. I knew little about Thomas Rodin, the artist, but the more time I spent with his brother, the more I came to revere him and the more I desired to meet him. I began to realize, too, that wherever there was opportunity to be around William, I was more than willing to take whatever risks were involved.
    We came to a statue of a nude male reclining, as though relaxing in a