to capture a queen...

she walked through the shrubbery , the heather sown gardens and grey rocky hillsides.. Her rosy brown hair was tied in a bun, and her face looked like a sun ripened berry...Lord Meriwether stood calmly by the fruit tree, his hand resting on the dark chocolate branch. The cool wind rippled softly through his hair. He looked ahead and I swear I saw a glittering twinkle form, almost like a diamond, in his shining stern eye... "there she is... " he said in a quiet voice... "there is my daydreaming rosemary"

An account from Mr Tavernly, the oil painter who was commissioned to paint "the day dreaming rosemary" detailing his experience 

He wanted to picture her in a way that had never been done before... he wished to "capture her as he saw her" those being his direct words to me on that blustery august day. The rain had been drizzling down and the golden little sun peaking hither and thither between the clouds like a shy, yet sweet bird. Meriwether knew of course that I was a man of art, but he knew I liked to keep this fact as secret as possible. He respected my irksome  need to remain anonymous. But then suddenly came a call to visit him: "I want you to come here... to our island, my good  friend" the dark ink read on the letter. "i have a dear request for you... come to see the meadows and how the summer has bloomed the heart of this land" 

hmm i thought to myself. Poetic words for such a harsh man. But yet I knew that a man such as him was certainly capable of being an artist by all means. 

Anyway.. I had now arrived upon the islands and was settled in the quaint little island castle with the earl and his queen.  I Had stayed for more than a day and still had not met the most talked about woman in Scotland. She was known to be shy, mysterious and completely secluded from the public eye. It was only when the lord Meriwether came and caused such a scandal that she received brutal attention from the press. . It was strange that those quiet and almost ghostly days I spent with those two at the castle on that misty little island, perhaps, had  made me the first outsider  to fully see what flowers bloomed that summer. 

I first met rosemary (as I came to know and call her), when myself and the duke were talking under an apple tree. The wind was cooing ever so gently, the sun was glinting her evening goodbye. 

It was strange because he had remained so quiet as we stood. He was smoking a cigar… . 

“So” I said in order to break the breezy silence. “so, you asked me to come here, you wanted something clearly. Come one tell me… what is it?” 

He didn't utter a word for a while…and just seemed content with puffing his cigar.

“She's out today, walking through the fields…” the duke finally said with a glint in his black eye                                                                                   

“I want you to paint her… I want to capture her as I see her and only I see her…” he sounded very moody. 

It would have been in my nature to outright refuse to talk about painting in public, but the reality was he had taken me by surprise. It was the potency of his dark tone… I could hear his soul speak. For some reason I heard myself accepting the commission arrangements before I could think with logic. 

The strength of will in his gentle voice, the beauty of the heather mottled valley and the scent of smoke in the wind made me accept. I felt almost under spell when I tread my first foot upon the island and made my way behind castle walls. 

We stood for a moment in silence. He was smiling and gazing up at the cloudy blue sky, the wisps of his brown hair turned golden in the glinting sun. Then all at once, suddenly he seemed to look forward… my own eyes turned to see why..

It was her, walking down a rocky hill towards where we stood.. 

 She walked through the shrubbery , the heather sown gardens and grey rocky hillsides.. Her rosy brown hair was tied in a bun, and her face looked like a sun ripened berry... Lord Meriwether stood calmly by the fruit tree, his hand resting on the dark chocolate branch. The cool wind rippled softly through his hair. He looked ahead and I swear I saw a glittering twinkle form, almost like a diamond, in his shining stern eye... "there she is... " he said in a quiet voice... "there is my daydreaming rosemary"

“Daydreaming rosemary…?” what was that… a name perhaps…? I remember thinking at the time. 

Throughout the painting process… I remember the experience clearly. We would all have a traditional Scottish breakfast together…  she would cook it all, which would certainly be frowned on by the press. The lord himself would never go without a cup of dark black coffee every morning and it seemed the queen knew his habits very well indeed. He would sit at the head of the table and always read a newspaper with breakfast. The Queen sat right next to him and then I would sit opposite her.  

After breakfast the painting would begin. He would be present  with her in the room or outside wherever i painted..  She was very insecure in why she was to be painted at first and I clearly remember her asking his lordship at breakfast “but why must i be painted? i would look so ugly… they will think of me as ugly!” .. 

He would smile at her fondly and take her hand and say “hush my dear… now go and fetch me a coffee”, she would nod happily.  It was remarkable the way he dealt with her emotional upheavals and settled her again… to  make her smile when he was present in the room was very easy for him. . 

After the painting session was over he would take her out for a walk. Sometimes she would make a picnic for the two of them as they walked over to the beach. 
 

The Celtic Printing press.