Chapter 75: Operation Green Vein 8: Genius Painter
The newspaper's director received them. Perhaps because Lancaster had strong connections, the director was particularly enthusiastic.
When you walk into the small building, the first thing that hits your nose is the smell of ink and soot, which makes you frown.
The first floor was busy and crowded, while the editors and reporters had their quarters on the second floor.
"Mrs. Lawrence, I understand you'd like to meet the artist of the illustration our newspaper reprinted in the London Morning Post," he said, his voice enthusiastic and boisterous. "It's a fine painting. The London editor contacted me after seeing it and paid me a full five pounds! Remember, our circulation revenue last month was only a little over twenty pounds. It was all thanks to our senior reporter Johnson, who discovered the talent and contacted the original artist individually."
Heather followed him upstairs. The air on the second floor was much fresher. Several rooms were arranged in two rows. She was led to the last door on the left.
"Johnson!" the director pushed the door open. "This lady from London came to see you specifically about that painting, you know."
The people inside hurriedly took their feet off the table and put them into their shoes. Heather stood at the door, a little reluctant to go in.
Johnson was flustered for a moment when he saw his boss suddenly come in, but he felt relieved after hearing about the painting. Because he had helped the newspaper make money this month, even his boss was very friendly to him and hoped that he would come more often.
He touched his greasy hair, pulled up his trousers, and walked out.
"Madam, if you have any questions about the painting, you can ask me directly."
Heather asked, "I want to talk to the original artist of that painting in person. Can you give me the address?"
Johnson's eyes rolled. "She doesn't usually see outsiders. If there's anything she wants to ask, I can help her."
Heather noticed his choice of words. "A lady? Then it shouldn't be difficult for me to meet her alone. I want her to help me draw a picture according to my requirements. If we don't meet in person, I can't be sure if she can draw it according to my wishes in time."
Johnson became even more excited when he heard this: "That lady's painting is very valuable. You should have heard that a London newspaper paid 5 pounds for it."
Heather stopped arguing with him and turned to look at the newspaper's director: "Money doesn't matter, but I want to meet him in person. What do you say, sir?"
Johnson immediately whispered to his boss, "Mr. Blue, since we found him through the newspaper, the money from the sale of the paintings will naturally be distributed as dividends to the newspaper." He was confident that his boss would be interested in this. After all, this might become a steady source of income in the future.
Unexpectedly, his boss suddenly changed his attitude and pulled him aside. "Johnson, you'd better not play tricks. I don't know if you didn't pay the painter a single shilling when I asked you to. But the person behind this lady is not someone you can afford to offend. If you offend her, you can't stay in this newspaper anymore."
Johnson didn't expect that this old fox would actually turn against him. His face froze and he didn't dare to speak anymore.
The person in charge pulled him directly in front of Heather: "Madam, Johnson will take you there now."
As they walked downstairs, Johnson repeatedly explained that the painter was working for a widowed woman and that she had given him the rights to her paintings because she trusted him. Hessel said little.
After getting in the car, Mary looked at Johnson outside and whispered, "Aunt, I always feel that he is hiding something. Maybe he just took us to see someone he knows, and he is not a real painter at all."
Heather didn't mind. Lancaster had a group of guards accompanying them, so they wouldn't be in danger. "It's okay. I have nothing to do anyway. If the painting doesn't turn out the way I want, forget it."
The destination was an old white house where a middle-aged woman in an apron was cleaning the small garden alone, cursing and swearing.
Johnson walked over familiarly and asked her where her master was.
The woman rolled her eyes at him. "Mr. Johnson, where could she be? Could she possibly be doing charity work at church?" She grumbled, grabbing anyone and complaining, "Every day she's either playing cards or visiting friends. We agreed to five shillings a week just to help with chores, but now I'm the only one doing the cooking, laundry, cleaning, and even childcare. Your Excellency's been so busy all day long you're nowhere to be seen."
Johnson told her to shut up and returned with a guilty conscience: "Don't listen to the servants' nonsense. Painters always look for inspiration. Well, please go in and wait for a moment. I'll go find her. She should be in this neighborhood."
He opened the door and let them in, but the maid in the garden ignored him and continued to talk to herself angrily.
Mary watched Johnson angrily turn right to look for someone. She followed Heather in front of her and said, "I don't think someone who can express the suffering of workers so vividly and powerfully would find inspiration at the card table every day."
She wasn't looking ahead, and Heather stopped, almost crashing into her.
"That's interesting." Heather took off her hat with interest. "If she didn't draw it, then who left it?"
A row of vibrant oil paintings stood prominently at the entrance to the living room. These paintings, placed along the walls, echoed the current trend of realistic painting in Britain, but prioritized emotional expression over realistic depictions. Almost every painting could convey the artist's emotional range, from the sympathetic workman to the aloof lady, the heartwarming silhouette of a family of three, and even the playful kitten.
"Oh, so the painter is really here." Mary walked over curiously to take a closer look. "Yes, these paintings should be by the same painter as the one in the newspaper. They both have simple techniques but very touching styles. It's true that paintings with color can express more vividly."
She turned her head in confusion. "Did I guess wrong? Was this lively painting really drawn by the lady who was addicted to the card game?"
Heather didn't think so, and tentatively pushed open the half-open door of the living room.
The door opened, and the living room was empty except for a sofa. There was also a little girl sitting in front of a drawing board, painting. There were all kinds of paints on the floor. She had her back to the door, unaware of the stranger who had broken in.
"It seems this is a real painter." Heather said in a low voice, tilting her head.
Mary couldn't believe it: "How old is this child? He looks familiar from behind."
At this moment, a suppressed quarrel was heard behind him, and a woman walked in with reporter Johnson.
Seeing Heather and Mary standing at the door of the living room, her face changed, and then she put on a hypocritical smile and said in a sweet voice, "Mrs. Lawrence, right? I'm late. Let's go to the living room to talk." She noticed the way Heather was looking at the girl and explained, "This is the child who is learning to paint with me. When I'm not around, she scribbles on my drawing board. I can't do anything about her."
The child turned a deaf ear, didn't even turn his head, and continued to smear the paint.
Mary looked at her curiously with her round eyes: "Is that your drawing board, ma'am? Do you squat on the ground to draw every day?" The small chair was not for adults to sit on, and the height of the drawing board was also very low.
The woman's face froze. Unable to find an excuse, she managed to say, "Oh, she's not very smart and always keeps quiet, so I just let her play with it." She called inside, "Okay, Julie, go out and take a walk. Don't stay here."
The little girl was startled by the sudden increase in volume, and the pen drew a long line on the canvas. She did not cry, but stood up silently and turned around.
"Julie, oh my God, Julie!" Mary couldn't believe it. She pushed away the woman blocking the door and rushed in to pull the little girl who was still confused about the situation.
"Julie, why are you here? Oh, by the way, I was confused. Was your father transferred to this city?"
The woman had no idea that they actually knew each other. She turned to look at Johnson suspiciously, and Johnson also looked confused.
"Mary, Mrs. Lawrence." Julie woke up from the painting just now, recognized the person in front of her, and said softly, "Long time no see, Mary."
Mary was the person closest to Julie when they were at Longbourn. After she went to London, she wrote to her at the address: "Julie, I have written twice, but you have never replied to me."
Julie reached out, bewildered. "I've only seen one letter, and I left home before I could reply, so I can't send it." She timidly tugged at Mary's sleeve. "Look, I was going to send you one of my drawings." She pulled a picture from a folder. It showed a young woman in a long dress walking down a country road.
"Julie, what are you talking about? Those are the teacher's paintings, how could you lie to people?" The woman kept winking at her.
Heather interrupted her: "Okay, what should I call you?"
She glanced at Johnson out of the corner of her eye before answering, "Jennifer Douglas, ma'am."
Heather leaned against the doorframe. "Ms. Douglas, aside from all the other evidence, it's easy to prove you painted this. All you have to do is redraw the painting from the newspaper at the same time. I think even if it's not an exact duplicate, the true artist can at least ensure the consistency of style and overall presentation."
Douglas didn't dare to agree: "But...I..." She kept looking at Johnson.
Johnson knew something was wrong, and his expression immediately changed to surprise and disappointment. "Oh my God, Mrs. Douglas, what did you do? Did you really take your student's painting?"
Douglas had underestimated the man's depth. He was sweet-talking her last week, and now he's turned sour. "Well, you're not going to get away with it! Who was it that pulled me over here and kept telling me to say I painted this myself? And then he insisted someone wanted to buy the painting and I had to take the money and split it!"
Heather reminded her, "Mrs. Douglas, Mr. Johnson must have taken away a painting last time. That painting was sold for five pounds. You didn't get a single shilling, did you?"
Douglas completely abandoned his sweet voice and rushed over roaring, "Five pounds! You told me it was only sold for ten pence, give it all to me!"
Johnson was also furious: "It was 5 pounds in total but I only got 2 pounds!"
They were easily provoked and started fighting. Heather was stunned and signaled the guards to pull them apart and throw them both into the garden to calm down.
Mary had explained the whole story to Julie. Julie didn't care about the behavior of this irresponsible teacher, but she felt a little sorry for her own salary and wanted to save it so that she could go to London to visit her friend one day.
Heather squatted in front of her and carefully explained her purpose. "Julie, can you draw me a picture? It's similar to the one in the newspaper, but this time we can't make the rich masters the bad guys. We have to make them feel that the black smoke and sewage from the factory can strangle the rich and the poor alike. Can you do it?"
Julie didn't understand. "Why? The teacher sometimes lets me play cards with him. I've seen those masters do some pretty bad things."
Birmingham is full of factories, and scenes of factory owners exploiting workers can be seen everywhere. Heather doesn't know how to explain it.
Mary added, "Because only if the rich masters themselves are afraid will they make changes and the workers will benefit from them. What do you think they are afraid of?"
Julie nodded. "They must be very afraid of death." She fell into deep thought, no longer paying attention to anyone, and quickly began to concentrate on painting.
It seemed that after a while, Heather and Mary went out.
Mary kept sighing, "This is talent! What amazing observation and imagination! Julie told me before that there's a painter next door to her grandfather's house, and her mother can also paint."
Heather nodded and walked towards the two people who were still arguing across half the garden. Many neighbors had already come out to watch on the street.
The neighbor's wife came over to listen for a while, then grabbed Heather who was passing by and enthusiastically explained, "Mrs. Douglas was very famous in this area when she was young. She did paint some good paintings. Unfortunately, after her husband died, she became addicted to playing cards all day."
Heather was surprised. "Does she make a living as a governess?"
A neighbor's wife said, "Before, many people in the neighborhood would send their children to her once or twice a week to learn painting. But then everyone realized she didn't care about the children at all. She would just give them a few words and then leave them home to play. When someone questioned her, she said she was taking the children out to sketch, but in fact she was just chatting with people in the factory area. Can you imagine how chaotic it is there?"
The maid who had been sweeping the garden at first also came over and said, "Exactly. What kind of teacher is she? This girl's family doesn't care about her at all. She's picked up and dropped off by the maid every day. Her father only shows up once a week. He probably has no idea what's going on here."
Heather thought that Major Brown should be quite reliable. Maybe he was too busy at work and had no one to help him, so he wanted to find a safe place for Julie to stay where she could learn knowledge.
"I know her father. I'll find a chance to mention it to him."
The neighbor lady was a kind person: "That's great. By the way, her father should be here today. Every week at this time, they go shopping in the commercial street next door and pick her up."
Shopping? Major Brown did the shopping himself?
Before Heather could figure it out, she heard the neighbor's wife say, "Here they are."
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
