Ducal Encounters 03 - Portrait of a Duke (13 page)

“Not much change.”

“Has he been working?”

“Yes. Not as much as we had hoped, but…”

Nia shrugged, seeing no necessity to elucidate. Sean understood the situation just as well as she did. Brother and sister seated themselves on a bench. Sean removed his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

“The painting the Smythes have, the supposed Trafford original, is definitely a forgery,” Sean said, sighing.

Nia’s heart lurched. Against all the odds, she had been subconsciously hoping they had got it wrong. “You managed to see it for yourself?”

“Yes, they live permanently in town, as you know. So I simply called, left my card and said I heard they had just acquired one of my grandfather’s works that I hadn’t previously seen. Naturally, they were delighted to show it off.” Sean shook his head. “It’s supposed to be a portrait of an unnamed gentleman painted before Grandpapa became famous.”

“We know such works exist, of course, but they are not catalogued anywhere amongst Grandpapa’s paintings.”

“That isn’t one of them.” Sean was emphatic. “I examined it closely, and it’s the best forgery I’ve ever seen, right down to the signature. But, it is not Grandpapa’s work.”

“Grandpapa’s brushstrokes are long and fluid.”

“The painter of the forgery tried to emulate that style and made a damned fine job of it. Excuse the language, Nia, but it makes me so angry that someone has taken such shameful advantage of Grandpapa’s declining health. The brushstrokes on the forgery were boxy in places and a little too lightly applied. Only someone like you or me would notice because the forgery was that good.”

“It is as we feared then.” Nia rested her chin on her fisted hand and sighed. “Whoever did this knows Grandpapa is losing his wits.”

“One of his protégés?”

“I don’t see who else it could be, unless one of them spoke out about Grandpapa’s condition to a third party, but I think that unlikely. We got rid of them all expect Miss Tilling before his condition became too serious. And Miss Tilling is incapable of painting that well. Mr. Drake does not paint…”

“What is it, Nia?” Sean asked when her words trailed off.

“It occurred to me that Mr. Drake might somehow have used Grandpapa’s illness to his own advantage.” She screwed her features into a moue of distaste. “I would not put anything past him.”

“Told someone else, you mean?” Nia nodded. “It’s possible, but why would he?”

“Oh, no reason.” Nia wasn’t ready to tell Sean about Mr. Drake’s ridiculous proposal. Besides, that had only taken place yesterday. If his feelings were hurt and he was looking to spite her, he had had no time to instigate the forgery business. They now knew of three forged portraits bearing their grandfather’s signature, and they would have taken months to paint. “He has been with us constantly, so can’t have seen anyone to pass the information on. And, to the best of my knowledge, he receives no correspondence. Much as I would like it to be him, I think we can safely absolve Mr. Drake from blame.”

“I never imagined Drake was involved,” Sean said, sending Nia curious sideways glances.

“What do we do now? Did you see Grandpapa’s agent?”

“Yes, Belling is beside himself with anger. He has not seen the Smythe painting, but he accepts my word for it that it’s also a forgery. Like me, he can’t think of any way to prove it.”

“How infuriating.”

“Even if we arranged for Grandpapa to see the painting and he claimed it was a forgery, no one would believe him. Everyone would laugh at him and say he was too demented to recognise his own early works.” Sean shook his head decisively. “I could not expose him to public ridicule. He does not deserve that.”

“No, I agree. We, however…you and I are not demented.”

“Which doesn’t help much,” Sean pointed out. “We could complain to the Royal Academy, but they would take no notice of us because, unlike Grandpapa, we have no standing with them. Our assertions would not be believed.”

“No.” Nia stared glumly at the cracked paving stones beneath her feet. “I am sure they would not be.”

“None of the owners of the forgeries would agree to them being authenticated by an independent expert for fear of learning they have been duped.” Sean shook his head. “I have now asked the question in an indirect way of all of them, and they all reacted in the same way.”

“So we cannot spread the word that Trafford forgeries exist because none of the people who own them are prepared to embrace that possibility.”

Sean nodded. “That about sums it up.”

They sat in morose silence for a moment or two.

“Which of grandfather’s students do you imagine has the talent and is devious enough to pull this off?” Sean asked.

Nia sighed. “I shall need to think about that. Did the Smythes provide any particulars about where they purchased their painting, or how that purchase came about?”

“They said the seller had wanted to keep the particulars confidential. They implied they had struck a good bargain, were pleased with the price they paid, and would respect his privacy as a consequence.”

“Which is more or less what the other owners told you,” Nia said glumly.

“Yes.”

“Who is doing this to us, Sean, and why? What have we ever done, other than try to help struggling artists?”

“No good deed goes unpunished.”

Nia rolled her eyes. “I feel so angry, so impotent.” Nia clenched and unclenched her fists. “I wish there was something we could do.”

“We’ll think of something.” Sean patted her knee. “Oversetting yourself achieves nothing.”

“Did you make arrangements for Grandpapa’s exhibition?”

“Yes, Belling was most obliging and it will take place in his Bond Street gallery the first week after Christmas when the
ton
will be in full swing. He has the arrangements in hand and I will tell you all the particulars later. He is very excited about Grandpapa’s change of direction and wanted to come down and see what he has done so far. I put him off. I would prefer him not to know how bad Grandpapa’s condition is quite yet.”

“Yes, I agree. All I need to do now is to ensure Grandpapa produces enough works to make the exhibition a success. But,” Nia added as another thought occurred to her. “The moment Mr. Belling makes it public that Grandpapa has turned his attention to landscapes, it will make his portraits that much more valuable. The forger won’t be able to help doing more.”

“Yes, that thought had occurred to me, which is why I asked Belling to delay advertising the exhibition. When the forger does get to hear of it, perhaps he will get careless in his haste and greed.”

Nia nodded, far from convinced. “That is about the only chance we have of catching him.”

“How are finances?” Sean asked. “As if I didn’t know.”

“At crisis point. We shall have to sell something.”

“Grandmama’s jewels it is then,” Sean said, echoing Nia’s heartfelt sigh.

“Actually, Sophia insists we sell some of the sketches Grandpapa did of her.”

“We can’t.”

“That is what I tried to tell Sophia.”

“The sketches or the jewellery.” Sean shook his head. “Neither course of action sits well with me. It makes me feel like such a failure.”

“It’s not your fault, Sean.” Nia slid her hand into his. “If anyone is to blame it is Mama and her extravagant ways, to say nothing of Papa’s failure to control her spending.”

“I can probably get a good price for the ruby necklace in Winchester, negating the need to go to London again.”

“Whereas the sketches would need to be taken to specialists, or placed in Mr. Belling’s hands.” Nia sighed. “Very well. I never did like those rubies much, anyway.”

“Sean!”

Sophia emerged from the house in a flurry of lilac muslin and hurled herself at Nia’s brother. Laughing, Sean stood and caught her in his arms. Sean’s laughter faded and Nia abruptly jumped to her feet when they both caught sight of Sophia’s grave expression.

“What is it?” Nia asked, alarmed. “Has something happened to Grandpapa?”

“No, he is sleeping.” Sophia shook her head. “Nia, I am so very sorry. I went to get the sketches, as we agreed yesterday.” Tears rolled down her face. “They are not there. I have turned our rooms upside down and can’t find them anywhere. They must have been stolen.”

***

“I think they know.” Annie twisted her hands together, her brow knotted with anxiety. “I’m that scared. Every time the mistress looks at me, it’s as though she knows. I’m sure of it. Aw, what shall we do?”

“What do you mean, you
think
she knows.
”

The forger struggled to maintain his temper. He needed Annie as his eyes and ears inside Trafford’s household. She spied for him because he pretended to be in love with her. The silly chit was three farthings short of a shilling in that she believed someone of his ilk would actually look fondly upon a maid-of-all-work. But that was precisely what she did think. She actually believed that an averagely pretty face and her willingness to warm his bed was sufficient incentive for the forger to offer her a life of luxury when he had made his fortune.

“Young Mr. Trafford has returned from London. He has been in close conversation with his sister and Miss Ash ever since. I couldn’t hear much of what they said. They shooed me away when I got too close, but they are very intense.” She looked genuinely frightened. “I don’t like it above half. What will happen to us if we get caught? I would feel that ashamed after the Traffords were kind enough to give me work. Can we not leave now?”

The forger closed his eyes, striving to remain calm. He counted to ten, reminding himself how badly he needed Annie. “Did you get what I asked you for?”

“Yes, I think this should suffice.”

She passed him some folded pages. The forger looked over his shoulder to ensure they were not being watched by anyone in Compton’s main street, and quickly perused the documents. For once she had got it right. This was exactly what he needed, and he gave her an approving smile. She had earned it, and he liked to be fair.

“What if they suspect me?”

“No suspicion will fall upon you. As far as they are concerned, you just dust furniture and sweep floors.” He could see she felt insulted and chucked her under the chin. “They undervalue you, Annie. I know just how clever you really are, but that’s our secret for now.”

Her smile was wide and uncontrived. “I’d do anything for you. You know that.”

Why else would I bother with you?
The forger was not in the best of moods, following his encounter with Lord Barrington. Unlike his other marks, Barrington was not nearly so easy to win over. Oh, he had finally agreed to look at the portrait the forger had in his possession, but was only willing to pay half as much as the others had stumped up. He drove a hard bargain which, under normal circumstances, the forger would have walked away from. But circumstances were no longer normal and time was not on the forger’s side, so he had no choice but to accept Barrington’s terms, which infuriated him. And now Annie was going through one of her clinging phases.

“Not much longer, my love,” he said, running the tip of one gloved finger down her face. “And then we can be together for always.”

“Aw, that’s what I want more than anything. “

The forger gave her a brief, chaste kiss on the forehead. “We have to be careful,” he said, disengaging her arms when she attempted to cling. “It would spoil everything if we were seen together now. I really should not come anywhere near the Traffords, but cannot resist seeing you.” She beamed, misinterpreting why it was so important for him to see her. Annie wasn’t much good at writing, and had no reason to be writing to him even if she was. Besides, he wouldn’t risk having anything to do with their activities committed to paper. Ergo, it was necessary for the forger to come to the district. “And you will be expected back at Stoneleigh Manor. Don’t make them suspicious by being gone too long.”

“When will I see you properly?” she asked peevishly.

“Soon, my dear,” the forger replied, tucking the papers she had given him safely inside his coat. “I will use the normal means of communication if I need to see you urgently. If not, be here at the same time next week.”

“You know I will.”

Oh yes, the forger knew it all too well. He turned on his heel and walked away from her, noticing a fine gent on an even finer horse looking at him in a peculiar manner, as though he knew him from somewhere. Self-conscious, the forger pulled his hat lower over his eyes. He would have liked to ask Annie if she knew who the gent was. He didn’t like the way he was staring so openly at him. But Annie had already disappeared, so the forger dropped his head and strode off towards the Ploughman, where he had left his horse in the livery yard. The sooner he got away from here, the safer he would feel.

“Sophia, are you absolutely sure you have looked everywhere?” Nia asked despondently.

“There was only one place to look. I kept them in a folder in the bottom of the closet, and they are simply not there.”

“Grandpapa might have removed them,” Sean suggested.

“If he has, I cannot find where he has put them.” Tears continued to spill down Sophia’s face. “I am so very sorry, Nia. I should have taken better care of them.”

“This is not your fault.”

“When did you last look at them?” Sean asked.

Sophia lifted her shoulders. “Months ago, most likely. Patrick is very fond of them. They remind him of happier times and, in his more lucid moments, he sometimes asks to see them.”

“But not since we have lived here?” Nia asked.

“No, definitely not.”

“So, they might have disappeared before we came here,” Nia surmised. “That would make more sense, since the only people here who could have taken them are Miss Tilling or Mr. Drake.”

“Or the servants,” Sean pointed out.

“No,” Nia and Sophia said together.

“Why would they?” Nia added alone. “As to Miss Tilling and Mr. Drake, neither of them has reason to venture into your part of the house, and know better than to bite the hand that feeds them. Besides, if they did go to your rooms for any reason, the chances of them being seen there are good.”