Authors: Jo Goodman
Northam paused in his observation of a landscape to wait for Elizabeth. "May I?" he asked, indicating the clue.
She held it out for him but he did not accept it, taking her wrist instead and lifting it and the paper into his line of sight. His hand was very warm on her skin. He was not wearing gloves and she could feel the roughened pads of his fingertips. Elizabeth's eyes flew to his face, realizing of a sudden how they had come to be abraded. He did not return her look, however, but continued to stare blandly at the paper in her hand.
At his end of the gallery Southerton observed the moment with some satisfaction. It was too early to congratulate himself on bringing the thing about, but indications of a repair in the breach were promising.
Southerton continued circling the gallery in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner, leaving North and Elizabeth to sort out the last clues on their own. He stopped when he reached Lady Powell."I believe I have taxed the gray matter enough for one evening. May I?" He indicated the vacant row of chairs.
To her credit the lady did not insist on a more eloquent excuse to take her company. "Of course," she said. She removed the part of her peach gown that had fallen onto the neighboring chair, giving Southerton a clear message as to where he was supposed to plant himself.
He obliged, lifting the tails of his coat as he sat. With one part of his mind still on North and Elizabeth, he found that what he had left was more than sufficient to entertain Lady Powell's conversation.
Neither North nor Elizabeth noticed Southerton's defection. "A fall from grace," North repeated, mulling it over. He released Elizabeth's wrist and watched her hand fall slowly away. He jerked his eyes back to the paintings and studied them anew.
"I wonder if it might have something to do with Adam and Eve," she said. "Their banishment was a fall from grace."
"There's nothing like that here. Still lifes, landscapes, scenes of medieval life." There were religious themes, most notably depictions from the New Testament. None, though, seemed to fit the clue. "Beautiful, but not inspiring a solution."
"Perhaps a garden."
North considered this. "That one," he said, pointing to a large oil depicting a spring garden a few yards from where they stood. He examined the face of it for clues and then stood on tiptoe to run his hands along the gilt frame. "Nothing."
Elizabeth frowned as North looked at his watch. "We haven't much time left, have we? I don't think Lady Battenburn means to give anything away."
The same thing had occurred to Northam, but he was not discouraged. "There are some twenty minutes remaining. Time enough." He stepped back from the wall, taking up a place near the center of the gallery where he could better view the whole. He was pleased when Elizabeth joined him without any urging on his part. "Tell me what you see," he said.
"Talent far exceeding anything my poor hand has put to paper."
Northam smiled, remembering his comment about her watercolors. Apparently he was not entirely forgiven. "Still stings, does it?"
"Hmm," she murmured noncommittally. She applied herself to the more important question. "That painting is by Hilliard. That one, a Brueghel. Those above them are the Dutch masters. The Battenburn collection is renowned for its breadth of styles. Titian. Durer. These works represent artists from all over the Continent and more than two centuries of history."
"Impressive."
"It is." She continued identifying the artists. "Raphael. Sir Charles Eden. Vermeer. De Troy."
North impulsively grasped her hand again. "Show me the Eden."
"What?" The jolt that had gone through her at his touch distracted her. She was looking at her hand, not the paintings.
"The Eden," he repeated. "Which one is it?"
It was then that Elizabeth caught his excitement. "Oh! The
Eden.
Of course. How clever!" She pulled him toward the oil of windswept cliffs and a turbulent sea. "This one. Shall I get you a chair? You can't reach it."
He shook his head. "Read me the clue following this one."
"Removes a face without a trace.
I don't think I understand. The face of the cliff?"
"I think the baroness was simply enamored of her own poetry. Isn't there another line that follows?"
"Yes.
Below one finds a simpler time.
That doesn't mean very much to me either, I'm afraid. The last of it is this,
A treasure trove to end the rhyme.
That seems to promise that we have reached the end, wherever that is."
"Hmm." Northam cupped his chin in one hand and considered the sum effect of the clues and the paintings. "I think better in a recline," he said when nothing came to him.
"Perhaps I could fetch a sofa instead of a chair."
He waved off the suggestion as if it had been made seriously. "Don't trouble yourself. It will come to me."
She wasn't certain if he meant the sofa or an idea. One seemed no more unlikely than the other. Rather than divert his thinking, Elizabeth let the comment pass.
Northam's eyes wandered to the oil painting under Eden's seascape.
Below one finds a simpler time.
It was a still life, the objects themselves unremarkable, as so they often were in such things. The surface of a scarred oaken table was the background for a partially open map, the edges of which were held down by a bottle of blue-black India ink, dividers, a sextant, and a sandglass lying on its side. It was the artist's rendering of these objects that made them seem far from ordinary. Light from an unseen window gilded the curved limb of the sextant, and where it was blocked by the ink bottle a shadow was cast across the map. Each grain of sand in the glass was perfectly realized.
"What do you think of this one?" Northam asked, pointing to the one that had caught his interest.
"Vermeer. You can tell by his exceptional use of light. It's called 'The Captain's Table.'"
Northam did not ask to see the clues again. He recited from memory, "A
fall from grace in this place, removes a face without a trace. Below one finds a simpler time. A treasure trove to end the rhyme.
Perhaps her ladyship was not so captivated by her poetry as I thought. She really meant it to be a clue."
"I am lamentably thickheaded," she said.
"That is certainly not true." Northam was not being gallant, merely factual. "I never would have thought of the Eden if you had not brought it to mind." He pointed back to that seascape.
"A fall from grace
is certainly referring to his work," he said. "But
removes a face without a trace
directs us elsewhere. To the one
below."
His hand dropped, index finger extended like a compass needle to the Vermeer. "The sandglass. A clock from an earlier
time.
One with no
trace
of a—"
"Face!"
Elizabeth finished triumphantly. She laughed. "I believe you are done dragging this horse to water, my lord. I am prepared to drink."
He grinned. "Let's have a look at this painting more closely, shall we?" Northam carefully ran his fingers along the large ornate frame. "Nothing here. Do we dare remove it?"
Elizabeth leaned toward the painting and Northam eagerly. "I think that is perhaps the only way we will know. Shall I help you?"
Nodding, he lifted the lower edge of the frame. "Take the other. Let's only tilt it away from the wall. That's it. Just... enough... to let me... see. I do believe, Lady Elizabeth, that we have found ourselves a treasure." He slipped one hand under the frame and explored the wall. "Here it is." His fingers pressed and probed until they found the release. They both heard a spring uncoil. "Can you see? The opening is on your side."
Elizabeth ducked her head under the back of the painting. "I can reach it." Balancing her corner of the frame in one palm, she slipped her other hand into the opening. "It is not so very big."
"You sound disappointed."
Elizabeth's hand closed over the prize. It fit comfortably into her fist. "Do you mean I was the only one hoping for an enormous jewel or a bag of sovereigns?"
Southerton approached with Lady Powell on his arm. He noticed that at last her interest had been piqued. Southerton remained cynical. No doubt she was spending what she thought was her share. "What's this?" he asked. "Do you mean to say you've found a bag of gold under there?"
Northam's head came out from behind the painting. "I think you would do well to lower your expectations."
South smiled. Though North was speaking to him, he saw his friend was pointedly staring at Lady Powell. That avaricious gleam
was
enchanting."What do you have there, Lady Elizabeth?"
North closed the panel and then eased the Vermeer back into place. "Go on," he encouraged her. "Show us the prize."
Elizabeth turned to face the trio and held out her fist. She unfolded her hand, her fingers opening like the petals of a flower. They all saw the treasure revealed at the same time.
At the center of Elizabeth's palm lay Lord Southerton's snuffbox.
Lady Powell was the first to speak. "Oh my, may I see it? It's exquisite, isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer she plucked it out of Elizabeth's hand. Holding it up to the candlelight pouring from the chandelier, Lady Powell could count the diamond chips embedded in the black enameled lid. The bottom was gold, not gilt over another metal, but solid gold. The box was not flat on its underside. It had a base that rested on the tiniest gold feet, each one shaped like a cat's paw. "This really is darling, quite unique. I've never seen the like before."
"I have," said Southerton. He took the box from Lady Powell before she could close her fingers over it. "It's mine."
Elizabeth's eyes shot to his face. "Yours? You mean the one that was stolen?"
"This is it?" asked Lady Powell. As if she should have been privy to everything concerning him, she made a small moue. "You never mentioned it was such an exquisite piece."
Southerton said nothing to that. "Was there anything else in the hiding place?" he asked.
Elizabeth shook head. "Nothing that I could feel."
Northam returned to the Vermeer."Take the other corner, South. We'll have another look."
Pocketing the snuffbox, Southerton stepped forward to help. A second search of the interior proved futile. There was no other prize waiting for them.
"Damn peculiar," Southerton said, running four fingers through his hair. "Battenburn has an odd sense of humor."
Elizabeth blinked. "Oh, you cannot believe the baron did this."
"Then Lady Battenburn."
"I refuse to countenance either suggestion."
Southerton shrugged. He looked at North. "What do you think?"
"I'd say the baron's warning about the Gentleman Thief was providential. He arrived at the treasure before us."
"That is not possible," said Elizabeth. "He had no clues."
"I confess to missing them myself," Lady Powell interjected. "Are you seriously proposing the Gentleman stole one treasure and replaced it with another he is also supposed to have stolen?"
Three heads turned on her and answered as one impatient chorus: "Precisely."
Lady Powell took the tiniest step backward. "Oh."
Elizabeth took pity on her. "It is difficult to believe," she said gently.
Northam leaned one shoulder against the wall, not at all concerned that he was sharing space with Titian and Brueghel. "I confess, if it is the Gentleman's work the purpose eludes me."
Southerton had been in deep study of the floor. His head came up as the clock in the main hall began to strike the hour. "I suppose we shall know soon enough if it is the work of the Gentleman or some odd whim of our hosts. It strikes me as a very peculiar manner in which to return something that was lost."
"Stolen," North reminded him.
"Just so. I mean, there was no way to predict that I would find the thing, was there?"
"But you didn't find it," Lady Powell said sweetly."Dear Elizabeth did."
Now it was Elizabeth who felt the force of all those eyes upon her. Unlike the other lady, she did not quail in the face of it. Her chin came up. "Only because Lord Northam could not reach it from his side. And I was hopelessly muddled about the riddles." Her glance swiveled in both directions, from North to South. "You each know it."
"It's true," Southerton said, sighing. "She
was
muddled."
Northam wasn't so certain, but then he had only been her partner at the end. He decided to reserve judgment. His chin lifted toward the massive gallery doors. "If I am not mistaken, Lord and Lady Battenburn will be leading the parade."
He was not in error. The baron and baroness were at the forefront of the crowd that swept into the room.
Lady Battenburn pressed her hands together gleefully. "See, what did I tell you, Battenburn?" she exclaimed. "I just knew when they did not return to the drawing room at midnight that we would find them here. You have located the treasure, have you not? Oh, please say it was before the clock struck the twelfth hour. His lordship is being very much a stickler about the rules. One would think we were offering up the crown jewels instead of a mere watch fob and pendant."
* * *