Title: Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting
Artist: Artemisia Gentileschi
Date: 1638
Medium: Oil on Canvas
It's on the two year anniversary of the day Elizabeth had given birth, just over a year after the trip to the Ellis farm, that Emma decides it's time to do something she'd been meaning to for the last year.
"I have something for you." Emma teased playfully before sobering slightly and adding, "But you have to promise not to burn it."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue slightly as she faked an amused response. "Har har."
"I'll take that as a promise." Emma allowed easily before pushing the door open and joining her sister on her bed, placing a large stack of papers and books between them. "So I guess you'll get your surprise."
Elizabeth stared down at the familiar binding of one of the books, easily recognizing it as a volume of one of the many art history encyclopedias the Royal College's library had held. It took her a moment to find her voice before she managed to croak, "What are you doing?"
"Showing you something." Emma replied simply. "And I put a bit of work into all of this so–"
"Emma, I've told you. I don't want to paint anymore." Elizabeth stopped her with a shake of her head. "Please don't make me repeat myself for the rest of our lives."
"If that's true, and you really don't want to paint anymore, so be it." Emma replied patiently. "But back at the farm you said you were scared and you told me why."
Elizabeth shook her head in frustration, pulling back from her sister slightly as she questioned, "So?"
"I wanted to show you that you're not alone." Emma explained softly as she began to lay out the numerous prints that she'd spent the last year gathering across the blue quilt beneath them. "All of these paintings are by women."
"So? We're they raped by their professors? Did they have to have a baby they didn't want?" Elizabeth questioned in rapid succession.
Emma shrugged. "I'm not sure. You know as well as I do that the lives of women are notoriously undocumented."
Elizabeth continued to watch as Emma began to open the books at the bottom of the pile, showing more seemingly disconnected paintings that she supposed all were painted by women, but she couldn't figure out what that was meant to prove. "Emma, I don't understand what you're trying to do here."
"I'm trying to show you that for centuries women have been using art to express the things we've been told we're not meant to." Emma replied simply. "That all of the things you think you need to keep hidden are things you can process in the same way you always have processed things that were hard. That none of what happened to you is anything but the truth."
It was during Emma's proclamation that she opened the last book to a two page spread of Frida Kahlo's Henry Ford Hospital which instantly captured Elizabeth's attention. She'd seen the painting before, she'd taken an entire course on the artists of the twentieth century, but the last time she'd seen it she didn't understand it.
She didn't know for herself the visceral feelings of pain, helplessness, and isolation portrayed beneath the symbolism they'd focused on in class. She couldn't see anything beyond the nakedness and the blood. It was simply a sad painting of a sad thing.
But now it was so much more.
Seeing the shift in her sister's demeanor Emma took the opportunity to press her gently. "Paint about what happened to you. Paint about your fear, and your pain, and your loss. Paint about the things and the people that you love and the things and the people that you hate. Just… don't stop painting unless you really don't want to do it anymore. That bastard has taken so much from you already and I don't want him to take this from you too."
"But how can I do that?" Elizabeth asked tiredly, the exhaustion of the last year seeping between each word. "Why should anyone let me?"
"You're more than qualified." Emma replied as she produced the final item from the bottom of the pile, this one a carefully secured brown paper file folder that she easily recognized as the ones their father had used throughout their lives, before placing it in Elizabeth's lap. "This belongs to you."
Elizabeth cautiously unwound the string that kept the envelope closed, terrified that she'd find what she expected inside the envelope. When she pulled open the flap she broke into tears at not only the sight of the words Master of Fine Arts peeking out of the top of the envelope but also at her father's familiar handwriting beneath the flap that clearly read, You did it Lizabet. The world is yours for the taking, my dear.
"It's alright." Emma comforted her softly. "You deserve this. You did everything you needed to for it and more, Lizzie. You're a painter, and a damn good one at that. If it's what you want, if it makes you happy, no one can stop you."
Elizabeth nodded as Emma moved to sit next to her before she pulled her into her arms and slowly began running her hands through her loose curls as she cried.
As her tears began to slow Elizabeth found herself admitting something she didn't expect. "After everything I've done. I just want him to forgive me."
"Dad was never angry with you." Emma tried to assure her, only to find her words increased her sister's distress.
"Not Dad." Elizabeth shook her head in frustration as she hiccupped harshly. "My son."
Emma shook her head in instant confusion. "Who told–?"
"No one." Elizabeth stopped her quietly. "I always knew it was a boy. I'm not sure how, but I just did."
"Oh." Emma sobered before sighing and leaning her head against her sisters. "Well, you were right."
"Tell me about him." Elizabeth requested hoarsely. "Please."
"Lizzie, I spent all of six hours with him." Emma laughed nervously.
"You remember him." Elizabeth replied knowingly. "Tell me what you remember about him."
Emma pulled away slightly as she tried to protest once more. "I'm not sure–"
Elizabeth surprised them both when she reached out to grab Emma's wrist in a vice grip as she insisted, "Tell me."
Emma nodded in agreement before smiling as she admitted, "He felt like a peach. He was easily the softest baby I've ever held."
Elizabeth sighed in relief as Emma leaned back against her but she didn't say a word.
"He has your nose. And Mum's lips." Emma continued softly. "He has some of the longest little fingers. At one point his little fist was nearly all the way around Thomas's ring finger. His hair was just like ours. Dark, curly, and a shocking amount of it."
When Emma trailed off, out of things she remembered about the boy Elizabeth quietly asked, "Did you tell him that I loved him?"
"Of course I did." Emma assured her easily. "I told him about how well you protected him so he could get to his family safely and how that meant you love him very much."
"Thank you." Elizabeth replied earnestly. "For taking care of him for me when I couldn't."
Emma nodded with a sad smile. "I would do anything for you, kiddo. I fucked up when I wasn't there for you and I'm never doing that again. I promise."
A few months later Phyllis walked into the front room to find Elizabeth sitting on the floor coloring with Eleanor. She was somewhat surprised by the sight itself, but it wasn't until she saw the details her daughter had added to the simple image of a fairy on her side of the book that she couldn't stop her murmur of, "Lizzie."
"What?" Lizzie looked up to her in confusion. "Is something wrong?"
Phyllis shook her head as she continued looking at the image. "It's beautiful."
Elizabeth blushed as she passed off the coloring book to her niece before standing up and brushing off her skirts as she quietly insisted, "It's nothing."
"Well, nothing or not, I have a favor to ask you." Phyllis continued cautiously. "I don't want to push you, but I was wondering if you'd be willing to lend me your skills."
Elizabeth shook her head in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Mrs. Rubin wants to ensure that Talia has a full wardrobe before she leaves for America at the end of the Summer and I'll be making three dresses for her." Phyllis explained as she walked across the sitting room to retrieve a stack of patterns that had been sitting on the windowsill for the last few days. "She brought me these patterns, but has asked if I can modify them for her so they cover the elbows, knees, and collarbones."
Elizabeth flipped through the patterns her mother handed her for a few moments before looking back up to her and asking, "I don't understand what this has to do with me."
"Well, I told her I would sketch out a few options for her to look at before I get started on them and I've been thinking that it would be nice to give her something more detailed than the poor excuse of chicken scratch I usually come up with." Phyllis continued nervously. "If it's too much for you, you don't need to. But I thought you might like having something to focus on for a bit."
"I guess." Elizabeth shrugged in agreement. "It's simple enough."
"Thank you, dear." Phyllis smiled warmly. "I've some charcoal pencils in with my sketchbook on my chest of drawers upstairs. You can use those, if that's sufficient?"
"More than." Elizabeth assured her. "When do you need them?"
"I'm meeting with Mrs. Rubin and Talia again on Saturday." Phyllis replied. "That alright?"
Elizabeth nodded, this time with a smile, before running up the stairs to retrieve the supplies her mother had directed her to and start in on the project.
For the next week Elizabeth could be found around the cottage with a sketchbook and pencil in hand, always focused on the work in front of her, just as Phyllis hoped she would be.
It was true enough that her sketches would be nothing good when compared to Elizabeth's, but she did well enough at her work to get by with them so she didn't really need Elizabeth's help. What she needed was to see her daughter doing the thing she'd loved for her entire life and the attempt had been surprisingly successful.
Even after Phyllis and Elizabeth had met with the Rubins and Phyllis had moved on to the practical stage of her work without her daughter, she was surprised to still regularly find Elizabeth around the house making small sketches of whatever she could see with whatever materials she could find.
Nearly a month into that pattern Phyllis was surprised to walk into the sitting room to see Elizabeth standing in front of an easel with a paintbrush in hand. "This is new."
"Yeah." Elizabeth nodded slowly in agreement. "It is."
"Do you need anything?" Phyllis asked gently. "I know most of what you had–"
"No." Elizabeth stopped her firmly. "Thomas picked up some supplies for me."
Phyllis nodded before moving forward to give her daughter a gentle hug. "I'm proud of you, love." She whispered against her forehead. "Your father would be too."
It was at the end of the summer, shortly after she'd helped her mother finish Talia Rubin's wardrobe, that Elizabeth got an offer she couldn't have seen coming.
"Emma!" Elizabeth shouted as she ran through the door of her sister's house at full speed.
"Do you have good news?" Michael asked excitedly as he ran around his aunt in circles.
"I do." Elizabeth laughed as she tried to follow his movements with her eyes only to quickly get dizzy and give up. "I have very good news."
"Alright, then tell us all." Emma pressed as Sybbie followed with Eleanor on her hip. "What's this amazing news you've come all the way here at bedtime to tell us?"
"They're holding an art exhibition at The Abbey next month to showcase local artists. Something about trying to drive tourism to increase visitors to the National Trust's acquisitions in the area–" Elizabeth explained excitedly only to get cut off by her exasperated sister.
"Lizzie, I love you, really." Emma assured her. "But if I don't get these kids to bed in the next five minutes I'm in for hell tomorrow."
"That's a naughty word!" Michael shouted out immediately.
"It is." Sybbie agreed.
Before Emma had a chance to apologize for her language, Elizabeth blurted out, "I'm going to be featured in the art exhibition!"
Sybbie turned back to her sister-in-law in surprise as she shouted, "Oh my god!" at the same time that Emma dumbfoundedly asked, "Are you shitting me?"
Eleanor blurted out the protest this time, "Mumma!" at the same time that her wife shouted, "Emma!"
"The woman managing the event saw me painting out in the park and she asked if I had a portfolio." Elizabeth explained hurriedly "All I have are my new pieces since I never got back my work from the college, but she loves them. She really said that. She said she loves them. Can you believe that? A curator for the National Trust loves my work."
"Lizzie, that's so wonderful." Sybbie congratulated her with a hug while Eleanor gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Amazing, really."
Emma pulled her sister from her wife's arms to give her a tight hug of her own as she proclaimed, "You fucking did it, kiddo!"
"Okay!" Sybbie threw both of her hands in the air in defeat. "That's it, time for these two to go to bed."
"Does Mumma get a time out?" Michael asked as Sybbie directed him towards the stairs as she carried Eleanor with her. "She said naughty words three times!"
"She absolutely does." Sybbie replied pointedly as they rounded the final corner up the stairs.
Emma laughed before turning back to her sister to see tears in her eyes. "Oh, Lizzie. It's okay. This is so so good!"
Elizabeth nodded in confirmation as she began stammering. "It is. I'm… I'm going to be an artist. Like a… real one. And no one had to… no men had anything to do with it."
Emma nodded in agreement. "You did it and you deserve it more than anyone ever has."
"Will you come?" Elizabeth asked suddenly. "To the exhibition, I mean?"
"Of course I will." Emma replied with a laugh. "If you thought you could keep me and the rest of our family away from that, well you've got another thing coming."
Elizabeth broke out into a grin that Emma wasn't sure she'd seen since long before this whole messy affair had begun and for the first time in a long time they both knew with a certainty that Elizabeth would get through it.
As promised the whole Molesley family, proper and implied, were all at the opening day of the Downton Abbey Local Artists Exhibition hosted by The National Trust.
It was as they were making their way up the familiar drive between the village and the Abbey that Elizabeth turned around and stopped with a strange expression on her face.
"Everything alright, love?" Phyllis asked worriedly, moving to approach her daughter to investigate for any signs of distress.
"I'm fine." Elizabeth insisted quickly. "It's just that… you all know that my art has been very personal lately. As proud as I am of it all, I'm not really ready to talk about the details of any of it in public."
Thomas nodded in immediate understanding. "We've got your back, Lizzie."
"There's also a piece in there that I haven't actually shown any of you." Elizabeth explained nervously. "I don't think I would have included it, but it was what I was working on when Mrs. Reinhart saw me working. She loved it and insisted it be included... I just… don't want any of you to be surprised by it."
"I'd take a good surprise." Beatrice assured her with a warm smile." Why don't we go on ahead so we can see your work so you can stop worrying about how we'll all react when we do?"
Elizabeth nodded with a small smile before turning back to the imposing building and moving forward once more, this time not stopping until they'd arrived in the main hall of The Abbey facing the numerous partitions around the room that were covered in displays from artists around the county.
It didn't take long for Elizabeth to find her work and she cautiously began moving towards it until she heard a gasp from behind her.
"Oh my god." Emma whispered in immediate recognition of the portrait of the baby that she'd held nearly three years before, quickly handing off Eleanor's hand to Johnny so she could move forward to examine the piece.
Beatrice moved quickly to examine the painting closer before gently asking, "Is that?"
"Yeah." Elizabeth nodded, tears quickly rising to the surface as her mother moved forward to pull her into her arms.
"It's beautiful." Phyllis murmured against her daughter's ear. "He's beautiful."
Her family spreads out slightly, each moving amongst one another as they admire the artwork that they all know represent the most recent and most traumatic years of Elizabeth's life in the most beautiful way possible.
Thomas approached her again first, standing at her side and wrapping his arm firmly around her shoulders. "You know your Dad would be so proud of you today, right?"
Elizabeth looked up to him, tears immediately fresh on her cheeks as she quietly asked, "Really?"
"Absolutely." Thomas doesn't hesitate. "I think you were around five the first time he started telling everyone who would listen that you were going to be an artist."
Elizabeth snorted slightly at the notion. "I wasn't even good then."
"You weren't." Thomas agreed. "But his office at the schoolhouse was plastered with your awful drawings anyway."
"Excuse me, Miss Molesley." Mrs. Reinhart, the curator of the exhibition interrupted softly prompting Thomas to remove his arm and step away quietly. "I realized today that we never discussed your pricing for these pieces. I have the paperwork in the other room and I think we ought to go over it sooner rather than later. You already have several interested patrons."
"No." Elizabeth shook her head immediately "I can't sell these pieces. They're… part of me."
"Would you consider working on commission?" Mrs. Reinhart replied, entirely unphased. "There are several ladies in the library who are very interested in your work and I would be surprised if they wouldn't jump at the chance for a custom portrait from your hand."
Elizabeth's professionalism faltered as she looked back at the older woman in surprise. "Are you serious?"
"I'm unsure why you think I would make that up." Mrs. Reinhart squinted back in obvious confusion.
"It's just–" Elizabeth began before shaking her head and explaining, "All of my work here is… wrong ."
Mrs. Reinhart let out a slight laugh at that. "I beg your pardon?"
"I studied at the most renowned art school in England for years and I didn't follow a single rule I learned while I was there in these pieces." Elizabeth continued to explain. "These would be… failed. No one should want to pay money for work like this. It's too… much."
"Perhaps that's because art has no rules." Mrs. Reinhart softened at the obvious distress radiating off from the young woman in front of her. "And I would wager that your art has always been judged by a man."
Elizabeth turned red as she acknowledged the accuracy of her assumption. "I suppose so, but–"
"Miss Molesley, I was captivated by your art because it is emblematic of the feminine experience." Mrs. Reinhart cut her off firmly. "It's beautiful, but messy and terrifying all the same. You capture something in your pieces that no man ever could, something that those women in there recognize the same as I."
"Go on." Phyllis prompted her daughter gently. "This is your moment, darling."
Elizabeth nodded in understanding, pausing briefly to look at the portrait of her father hanging in the center of a room he'd only ever occupied as a servant, before nodding once more and following Mrs. Reinhart into a library that decades before she'd sneak into with her sister to admire the art on the walls to possibly sell her own art to hang on walls just like them across the country.
This is the moment she's worked for all these years and as she made her way over to the group of women Mrs. Reinhart directed her towards, she suddenly heard her father's voice in her head, clear as day, assuring her proudly, "I'm on your side."
NOTES:
Author's Note:
I can't thank those of you who have stuck with me through this monster of a series enough. After three years of working on this series I'm really glad to see things wrapped up in a way that feels final (with an extremely self-indulgent epilogue that is being posted alongside this chapter). Thank you for letting me tell this story. I hope you all have enjoyed it as much as I have.
Content Warnings:
Major Character Death (Aftermath); Referenced Rape/Sexual Assault (Recovery)
Chapter Recap (Contains Spoilers):
Over a year after the trip to the Ellis farm Emma brings Elizabeth books and prints of paintings by other women and encourages her not to give up on painting if it's what she really wants. Elizabeth asks Emma about her son. Phyllis asks Elizabeth to help her with her work by doing sketches for dress designs and shortly after Elizabeth begins painting again. Elizabeth is asked to participate in an art show taking place at Downton Abbey where she displays a series of paintings detailing the last several years of her life.