On Renfrew Street, Day 23

Ellen’s stomach contracted. She had poured so much of herself into her painting and revealing it felt like exposing her soul

The next day a letter arrived from the solicitor. When Ellen opened it and read its contents, she gasped aloud. The amount Henry had left her was more than enough, if she were careful, to see her established comfortably for the rest of her life. Two years had passed. “Are you nervous?” Ruby asked in a whisper as the guests began circulating through the gallery of the Society for Lady Artists’ house on Blythswood Square. “An exhibition all on your own!”

“Not quite, Ruby,” Ellen answered with a little smile. “All the women pupils who are getting a Certificate are exhibiting.”

“Yes, but it’s yours they’re talking about,” Ruby answered. “And how can they not, when you look at the size of it?”

Grinning, she nodded towards the shrouded canvas that took up nearly a whole wall. Ellen smiled back even as she tried to suppress the nerves fluttering through her stomach.

It had taken her two years to complete the canvas inspired by Henry’s death and the sinking of the Titanic. Tonight was the first time it would be revealed to the public. Joys and sorrows

The last two years had held both joys and sorrows; Ellen still mourned Henry, but using her grief constructively, through painting, had helped.

She’d become closer to Ruby and Dougie, too, spending many happy afternoons in their little flat in Springburn.

Then, just a few months ago, Ruby and Dougie’s father had died in an accident at the railway works. At the same time Ellen had been offered a position at the art school as a drawing instructor.

The events together had led Ellen to leave Norah’s and, with the bequest Henry had given her, purchase her own little house near the school. She’d invited Ruby and Dougie to live with her and, as she’d expected, Ruby had at first declined.

“Ruby,” Ellen had persisted, “if it is a matter of pride that is keeping you from joining me, then please cast it aside. I’d rather not be on my own, and the fresher air will do Dougie good.”

Ruby had stared at her for a moment, her eyes full of tears. “You’re too good to us, Ellen,” she had finally said. “I’m really rather selfish,” Ellen answered.

“This is as much for my sake as it for yours or Dougie’s,” she explained.

A week later Ruby and her brother had moved in, and now Ellen was about to receive her certificate. In September she would begin teaching.

She glanced at the crowds filling the gallery, people murmuring excitedly about the works that were to be unveiled.

She wished someone from her old life could have been here to share her success.

She’d written to Aunt Rose, who had been thrilled for her, but sad that Ellen would not be returning to Amherst Island as she’d promised three years ago.

Then, of course, there was Jed and Louisa. Ellen had written to Louisa several times over the last few years, but had had no reply. Rose had kept her informed of the young Lymans.

The summer after Henry’s death, Ellen had learned, to her great sorrow, that Jed and Louisa’s baby had died only a few hours after his birth. A little boy – they’d named him Matthew. His grave was in the churchyard, next to Jed’s mother’s. Encouraging

Rose had told Ellen in her letters that Jed and Louisa had had no more children; Louisa had lost her youthful gaiety and seemed a nervous shadow of the woman she’d once been. Jed was surlier and more taciturn than ever.

Ellen held them in her prayers, and wrote encouraging letters to Louisa as often as she could. There seemed little else she could do.

Six months ago, Jed’s brother, Lucas, had written to Ellen; he’d been a faithful correspondent for her entire time in Glasgow and he told her that he’d been accepted as partner at the law firm where he worked. He’d also hinted that there was a young lady of some interest to him.

Ellen had felt a strange welter of happiness and jealousy, but happiness won out. She expected Rose would write soon with the news of his marriage.

All of the island happenings and people seemed far away now, almost as if that life had belonged to someone else.

Her Glasgow life was real and satisfying, but Ellen missed the island quite desperately. However, she doubted if she would ever go back.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Norah’s voice rang out among the crowd, and the murmurs ceased as everyone waited expectantly for the works to be revealed.

Ellen’s stomach contracted. She had poured so much of herself into her painting and revealing it felt like exposing her soul.

Moments later the sheet was drawn away from her painting and Ellen tensed as everyone drew a collective intake of breath as they gazed at the massive canvas.

It was titled Starlit Sea, and it was a painting of the sea at night, stretching endlessly into the dark, as it must have when the Titanic had sunk.

The only sign of the presence of a ship, however, was a few ripples in the forefront of the canvas. Magnificent

The painting was mainly taken up with the expanse of water, and the reflection of stars on its surface, each one a pool of light that looked as if it were rising up from the water, the souls of the dead offering both hope and their lament.

“Ellen, it’s magnificent,” Ruby whispered. “It makes me want to cry and I don’t know why.”

It made Ellen want to cry, too, but she blinked the tears back and squeezed her friend’s hand. Amy came up and threw her arms around her. “You clever thing!” she exclaimed. Amy had stopped her lessons at the art school a year ago and was now engaged to the son of a Glasgow coal merchant.

“Thank you,” Ellen answered as she hugged her friend. “For everything.”

Several hours later she, Ruby and Dougie walked to the house they called home. The air was sultry for mid-June, the evening light despite the hour.

More tomorrow.

On Renfrew Street was previously a serial in The People’s Friend. For more great fiction, get The People’s Friend every week, £1.30 from newsagents and supermarkets.

Artwork: Dave Young