‘It’s all right. I am perfectly capable . . .’ Amanda put on a pair of gloves, lifted the painting away from the wall, and carried it over to the window. She placed it on a side table and then knelt down and looked at it closely, inspecting the edges with a magnifying glass.
She looked at Lord Teversham. ‘Could I take it out of its frame?’
He turned to Ben, who nodded in resignation. ‘As long as you don’t do any damage. It’s Tudor wood, you know . . .’
‘Indeed . . .’ Amanda removed a scalpel from her handbag and prized the panel away from the frame.
Sidney had never seen her at work before.
‘The frame is original,’ she said before putting the panel back. ‘It would be good to get the painting back to the Gallery and take some samples. You’ve had it restored, I see.’
‘Ten years ago.’
Amanda hung the painting back on the wall, and then put her magnifying glass and her scalpel back in her handbag. ‘A very unusual piece,’ she said.
‘Is that all you have to say?’ Ben asked.
‘By no means. Has this portrait always been in your possession?’ she asked.
‘Yes, of course,’ Lord Teversham replied. ‘It’s an heirloom. It must have been in the family since the sixteenth century.’
‘No, I’m sorry to have to repeat myself. I have to be sure of the provenance. Has this portrait always been in your possession? It has never left the building?’
‘Not apart from when it was restored.’
‘And who did the restoration?’
‘Some chap in Saffron Walden. He was very good value.’
‘I imagine that he was. What differences did you notice when the painting was returned?’
Lord Teversham could not understand why Amanda was asking such an obvious question. ‘Well, it was cleaner and brighter. You could see everything . . .’
‘And he got rid of the woodworm,’ Cicely Teversham added. ‘I was worried that the panel had a bit of rot and that it would get worse.’
‘Well,’ said Amanda. ‘There’s certainly no woodworm now; just a little residue in the frame.’
‘The panel is as good as new . . .’
‘Tell me, did the panel once have a cartellino?’
Lord Teversham was confused. ‘A cartellino?’
‘A painted inscription, often giving the name of the person represented.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘No trace of any over-painting?’
‘I wouldn’t know about that. Why do you ask?’
Amanda explained. ‘The cartellino was a common feature of the Lumley Collection, a group of paintings dispersed in 1785. It is possible the work comes from that collection. Do you have a library?’
‘I don’t imagine our household accounts go back that far,’
‘The provenance is crucial. We do have a copy of the Lumley Inventory at the Gallery.’
‘Why are you asking all this?’
‘Do you still have the restorer’s address?’ Amanda asked.
‘Yes, I think so.’
Cicely Teversham remembered. ‘Frederick Wyatt was his name . . .’
‘Although if he recognised the painting I would be surprised if he was still living there.’
‘Recognised? Is something wrong?’ Sidney asked.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Amanda replied. She turned to Lord and Lady Teversham. ‘I think we all need to sit down with a cup of tea. Or something stronger.’
‘Very well; but why are you looking so concerned?’
Amanda was still guarded. ‘The frame is the original sixteenth-century mounting, but the panel itself has been replaced.’
‘Replaced?’ Ben Blackwood asked. ‘Impossible.’
‘It’s a copy; a very good one, but a copy nonetheless. The paint surface is even; the wood is new. I would need to take a sample to be sure . . .’
‘Good heavens . . .’
‘Which would not matter so much if this was originally the work of a minor Netherlandish master . . .’
Lord Teversham could not believe her. ‘I thought it was . . .’
Amanda continued. ‘So did I. But look at the jewellery the lady is wearing. I am pretty sure that it was made either by Cornelius Hayes or John of Antwerp. It is an exact match of a coronation medal in the British Museum.’
‘A coronation medal?’
‘The carnations in the background are a symbol of betrothal; the portrait of Adam and Eve represents the hope of children in a marriage. The original of this painting can be dated to 1533.’
‘Who is she, then?’ Cicely Teversham asked.
Ben had guessed. ‘You’re not saying?’
Amanda paused. ‘There is only one of Henry VIII’s six wives with no surviving contemporary portrait. If you once had this original painting, and I am only saying “if”, then you were the possessors of one of the most valuable pictures in the world: a lost portrait, by Hans Holbein the Younger, of Henry VIII’s second wife, Queen Anne Boleyn.’
‘A sleeper!’ said Ben.
‘Exactly,’ Amanda replied. ‘A work of art that has been misattributed but which turns out to be far more valuable than anyone thinks. I found a Van Dyck in a similar situation only the other day . . .’
Cicely Teversham pressed. ‘We had an invaluable Holbein?’
‘Possibly . . .’
‘And now we’ve lost it? That painting could have saved our entire estate. How can we get it back?’
‘Well, obviously it’s not going to be easy,’ Amanda replied. ‘And we do need to track down your restorer.’
Sidney decided to step in. ‘Who else knows you had this painting, Lord Teversham?’
His host was nonplussed. ‘Most of the family, of course, and the servants. Mackay always took a dim view of it, but I think that’s because it reminded him of the wife who ran off. Then there’s Ben, of course, although portraits of pious ladies are quite far from your sphere of interest, aren’t they?’
Ben Blackwood looked uneasy. ‘Indeed.’
‘Some visitors and friends, although most of them prefer horses or dogs.’
‘Anyone from the art world?’ Amanda asked.
Cicely Teversham spoke up. ‘There was also the man from the insurers. He came to value the collection. In fact, he was the person who suggested the painting needed restoring if I remember rightly.’
‘It seems peculiar, doesn’t it?’ Lord Teversham asked. ‘If a crime has been committed then it seems rather a bizarre choice – why didn’t they take a Titian?’
‘That would be harder to sell on,’ Amanda replied.
Lord Teversham couldn’t quite take in what she had been saying. ‘I always thought that this was a perfectly decent but rather insignificant painting. An unknown lady, Netherlandish School: hardly worth restoring. She’s no great beauty, is she?’
Amanda interjected. ‘Taste changes, Lord Teversham, but if your original painting is what I think it may have been, then it fills one of the greatest gaps in British art. Holbein was active at the time of the marriage between Henry the Eighth and Anne Boleyn. We know that he designed a table fountain as a New Year’s Day gift for the King in 1534, and even, probably, a cradle for the infant Elizabeth I. The theory is that if there was such a portrait it was destroyed or hidden after her execution and Boleyn’s name became Bullen or even Butler . . .’
‘And why would they do that?’ asked Cicely.
‘Fear. Anne Boleyn was once the most powerful woman in England. She gave birth to the future Queen Elizabeth, but she could not give the king a son. What I think is interesting is how little she realised the danger she was in. After she gave birth to a girl she thought that she would become pregnant again; and in January 1536 she was. Then, on the twentieth of January she miscarried. In the next few months her enemies rallied, and despite the fact that she had just lost a child, she was accused of multiple infidelity with half a dozen men including her own brother.’
‘Seems a bit rum,’ Lord Teversham interrupted.
‘Half a dozen men, and she had just lost a baby. She was put on trial and condemned to death but as she took the last sacrament she swore upon her soul that had never been unfaithful to her husband. On the nineteenth of May she was beheaded. In less than four months her reputation was ruined. In January she had been the Queen of England. In May she was dead. It is one of the fastest downfalls in English history. Eleven days after her death the king married Jane Seymour. Anne Boleyn’s memory was forgotten. Paintings were taken down as quickly as possible, dispersed, disguised and misattributed.’
‘Like mine . . .’ Lord Teversham cut in.
‘We must get it back,’ Cicely Teversham exclaimed. ‘For the sake of the estate and in the interests of the collection.’
‘No,’ Amanda cut in. ‘We must get it back for the nation.’
After lunch, Amanda returned to London and took the painting back to the National Gallery. There it was examined, photographed and subjected to a series of chemical tests. While she was waiting for the results, Amanda studied the inventory of Mr John Lampton, ‘Stewarde of Howseholde to John Lord Lumley’, that had been made in 1590. Above an entry for one of the National Gallery’s own paintings, ‘The Statuary of the Duches of Myllayne, afterwards Duches of Lorreyn, daughter to Christierne King of Denmark, doone by Haunce Holbyn’, she had found the following: ‘The Statuary of Quene Anne Bulleyne’.
It was a full-length contemporary portrait. There had been no record of where it had gone after the sale of 1785. Amanda’s suspicions had been justified.
Lord Teversham had rooted out the address of the picture restorer and, at the beginning of August, shortly after her twenty-seventh birthday, Amanda let Sidney accompany her on a visit to seek him out in the small country town of Saffron Walden.
She drove the cream MG TD which her parents had bought her as a birthday gift, and she wore a scarf and dark glasses against the low autumn sunlight that Sidney thought made her look like Gene Tierney in
Leave her to Heaven
. As they travelled through the lanes of Cambridgeshire, Sidney told her how much he had enjoyed introducing her to Lord Teversham and how proud he was to know her. ‘I cannot understand how you recognised that painting so quickly,’ he marvelled.
‘I do like to think that I am good at my job, Sidney.’
‘I have never doubted it.’
‘Some do. They think I am merely posh.’
‘You are far more than that, Amanda. But do you think we can get the painting back?’
‘If the restorer knew what he was doing then he will probably have sold it on. But this is our only lead. I have asked Lord Teversham to check the provenance. It would help if we knew how the family acquired the painting in the first place.’
Sidney tried to catch Amanda’s eye but she was concentrating on the road ahead. ‘You should have asked Ben,’ he said.
Amanda smiled and gave him a glance back. ‘I’m not sure about him at all. He’s very protective of his position in the house, whatever that might be.’
‘First impressions can be misleading,’ Sidney replied, ‘but perhaps not in this case. He does seem rather effete. Would you like me to look at the map?’
‘We’re just turning into Chaters Hill. Number one hundred and sixty nine appears to be some kind of souvenir emporium.’
‘Are you sure it will be open?’ Sidney asked. ‘Most of the shops seem to be shut.’
‘I thought I saw someone through the window.’
‘Then let’s go in and ask.’
They parked the car and approached a shop that consisted of toys, trinkets and teddy bears. The owner was a broad-shouldered man with a walrus moustache and twinkling brown eyes. ‘What can I do for you both on such a magnificent morning?’ he asked.
‘We are not sure that we have come to the right place . . .’ Sidney began.
The proprietor was unconcerned. ‘Ask me anything!’
‘I think we must be looking for the previous owner,’ Amanda continued. ‘Did this building once belong to someone in the arts, a painter or a restorer, perhaps?’
‘It did indeed: Freddie Wyatt; the most mild-mannered of men.’
‘But he is no longer here?’
‘Alas, he is not.’
‘He has retired?’
‘To Holland, I believe. He went in rather a hurry. He said he couldn’t wait to get out of England and just left me with a forwarding address.’
‘When was this?’
‘A few years ago now. The place was a terrible mess when I bought it. There were bottles of pigment, sugar, tea and alcohol all over the place with no way of knowing what anything was; no labelling, no order. It was chaos. I offered to send on any money received for work that people were late to collect but after three months that would be that. But you have not come to hear about this, I am sure. You have come for a bear, I hope, or a souvenir; something to remember your visit.’
Amanda kept to the subject. ‘We were thinking of having a picture restored but it seems we have come to the wrong place.’
‘I sell picture postcards, my dear, but not pictures.’
‘You knew this Freddie Wyatt?’ Sidney asked.
‘We used to drink together in The Swan Hotel. Do you know it?’
‘Unfortunately, I do not.’
‘They do a very fine jugged hare.’