“I promised nothing to him. You may consider my marriage whatever you like, but you’ll not question it in my husband’s home. Now leave this house and never return!” Celine shouted at her.
“All right, sister dear, I’ll go. But I shall return, make no mistake. We are not finished, Celine, not by a long shot.” Celeste strode from the room, slamming the front door behind her.
“That did not sound good,” Alexander stated, entering the sitting room. “I assume your sister has left?”
“Mrs. VanWoodsen has left. I have no sister,” Celine said as she exited the room.
“Gone?” Damien said, shock ringing in his voice. “What? Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. It’s gone.”
Damien stood speechless for a moment. “Oh no. No! Damn it! Now what?”
“No idea,” Michael answered, also frustrated.
“All that work! Researching it, convincing everyone, coming back here and it’s just gone? We missed it? The Duke stole it right out from under us?”
“It appears so,” Michael said.
Damien kicked a stone in frustration, sending it sailing down the path. He placed his hands on his head as he paced around the clearing by the cottage. “No. No. No, no, no, no, no. I’m NOT going to Celine and telling her the painting is gone. I’m not returning to our time without this settled. We have to find it.”
“I agree,” Michael said. “I don’t like to lose either. The Duke couldn’t have taken it that long ago. It wasn’t even finished yet. Perhaps it still isn’t. He can’t have gotten far with it.”
“Right. Yes,” Damien said, calming down. “We have the best chance of finding it here than in our time because the painting’s only been missing a few hours.”
“Okay, so how do we find it?”
Damien considered the options for a moment. “Start by finding where he’s staying? Search the house when he’s gone? This painting is not small. It should be easy to find.”
“Right. Okay, so where is he staying, do you think?”
“In town? Oh wait, where was he when we first came to Maine? That house by the sea! Perhaps he’s there?”
“Only one way to find out,” Michael stated.
“Right. Let’s go.” The two took off down the path, intent on finding Marcus Northcott.
Celine pulled on her cloak before heading out the front door following lunch. “Going somewhere?” Alexander inquired.
“Yes,” Celine answered. “To check on the status of my portrait. It cannot be finished soon enough.”
“Allow me to accompany you. You shouldn’t go out alone, Celine.”
Celine sighed. “Yes, you are correct. I would appreciate your company, Alexander. Thank you.”
Alexander donned his cloak and together they traveled across the estate to the cottage. Celine banged on the door when they arrived. There was no answer. Celine pounded on the door again. This time she got results.
“Mrs. Buckley,” Benjamin said, pulling the door open. “I didn’t expect you.”
“Where is the painting? Is it finished?” Celine asked, pushing through the door.
“No, it is not.”
“I want to see it,” she demanded.
“It’s not finished. I am tired of people viewing my unfinished work. I will contact you when I have finished!” Benjamin said.
“I apologize, Mr. Abbott, but I would like to see the canvas itself if not the painting.”
“You cannot.”
“Why?” Celine questioned.
“It’s… It’s not here.”
“Not here? Where is it?” she asked.
“I moved it.”
“Why?” Alexander asked.
“Because I’m tired of people bothering me to see it. Mrs. Buckley, your cousins visited me the day before last. They took it upon themselves to let themselves into my cottage and preview the painting.”
Alexander knit his brows, processing the information.
“We apologize for their actions,” Alexander covered. “They were nothing more than overzealous in their appreciation of your work, Mr. Abbott.”
“Take me to it, I want to see it,” Celine demanded again.
“No. Mrs. Buckley, I was up late working on the painting. I am tired. I was about to lay down when you barged in. Now, please, dear lady, I request you to leave so I may rest.”
Celine opened her mouth to object, but Alexander beat her to it. “Of course, Mr. Abbott. We’re sorry to have disturbed you. Our anticipation for the completed portrait is overwhelming. How soon might we expect to receive it?”
“In a few days,” Benjamin lied.
“Excellent. Surely, Mina, you can wait a few more days. Now let us leave Mr. Abbott to his rest so there is no delay in his work.” He escorted Celine from the house into the bright sunshine. The door slammed behind them seconds after they had cleared it.
Celine was exasperated. “He doesn’t have it. He was lying,” she said to Alexander when they were alone.
“I am also concerned that may be true. I also find it disquieting that Michael and Damien were here viewing the painting.”
“Michael and Damien are not the threat. It’s obvious where that painting is.”
“Celine, surely you agree this casts an undesirable light on their motivations?” Celine stormed down the path. “Celine? Where are you going?”
“To retrieve my painting,” she said, disgusted.
“Let’s not do anything rash, Celine. We should return to the house and discuss the situation with Gray.”
“I am not waiting for Gray,” she said, hastening toward the house where Marcus was staying.
“There it is,” Michael said. “And it appears you were right. There’s someone in that house. Do you suppose it’s Duke Northcott?”
Damien crouched next to Michael behind the bushes. “Yes. Look!” he said, pointing to a figure on the porch. “Dembe, the servant who traveled with him in Martinique.”
“Well, that’s one thing solved. Now we need to devise a plan to check the house for the painting.”
“We’ll have to wait until he’s out to do that. And hope Dembe doesn’t catch us.”
“Do you figure he’d keep it at the house?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s the best place to begin our search. Any other ideas on where he might keep it?”
“Nothing concrete, but it might be worth following him. If he’s keeping it somewhere else, he’d lead us right to it.”
“Good idea. Yeah, we should keep that in mind.”
As the lunch hour approached, Damien shared what he stashed away from breakfast with Michael. All remained quiet at the house until the afternoon. Movement along the path to the house drew their attention. As the figures approached, they made out Celine. She marched at a swift pace toward the house. Alexander struggled to keep up with her. He appeared to be pleading with her over something, but they could not overhear their conversation.
“Whoa,” Damien said. “She looks super mad!”
“Yeah. If that guy wasn’t such a bastard, I’d almost feel bad for him. I’ve been on the receiving end of that mood more times than I’d have liked.”
Celine and Alexander passed their hiding spot, unaware of their presence as they continued their journey to the house. As they passed, Michael and Damien overheard a small snippet of Alexander’s conversation. “… a terrible idea. Celine, please, do not continue this madness until we can discuss…”
“Good luck, buddy,” Michael said. “There’s no talking to her when she’s like that.”
“Yep, he’s fighting a losing battle,” Damien agreed.
Celine failed to acquiesce to Alexander’s pleadings, thundering her way up the steps onto the porch and flinging the door open to the house. She disappeared inside with Alexander following her, his reluctance obvious.
“Where is it?” Celine demanded, storming into the sitting room off the main entrance.
“Why, Celine. What a lovely surprise! Am I to
understand you’ve come to your senses and are here to beg my forgiveness?” Marcus asked.
“I will beg for nothing from you. Where is my portrait?” she shouted.
“Portrait? I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Marcus answered.
“Celine, please, we should not be here,” Alexander said.
“Ah, I see you’ve brought the other Buckley,” Marcus commented. “I assume Grayson was too much of a coward to accompany you.”
“Do not insult my family, sir,” Alexander said, stepping between Celine and Marcus.
Marcus rolled his eyes. “You are well aware of what I’m here for, Marcus,” Celine said, pushing ahead of Alexander.
“Celine, I haven’t the slightest idea what this bout of hysteria concerns.”
“My portrait. The portrait commissioned by my husband from Benjamin Abbott. Where is it?”
Marcus shrugged, feigning ignorance. “I haven’t the slightest idea. Perhaps you should check with Mr. Abbott.”
“I have. He does not have it,” she said.
“And did he tell you it is in my possession?” Marcus inquired.
“No…” she began.
“Yet still you accuse me of such treachery,” he interrupted her. “Celine, these accusations are becoming tiresome and my tolerance is reaching its limit. I will not tolerate these accusations in my own home!”
Celine set her jaw in frustration. “This was a mistake, Celine. Come, let us return home,” Alexander said.
Celine stood for a moment more, glaring at Marcus. “Buckley is right, Celine. You’ve made quite a few mistakes of late. I am a patient and forgiving man. Just admit your mistake and all shall be forgiven. We’ll end this farce of a marriage. Then we can begin anew,” he said, rubbing his finger along her cheek.
Celine flinched. “Take your hands off my cousin’s wife, sir!” Alexander shouted, positioning himself between Celine and Marcus again.
“Or what, Buckley?” Marcus growled through clenched teeth.
“Nothing,” Celine said, pulling Alexander away. “We are leaving.” Celine tugged on his arm again, pulling him toward the doorway.
“Consider what I’ve said, Celine!” Marcus shouted as they exited. “Come to me when you’re ready to remedy your errors in judgement!”
They descended the steps, walking a few steps away before Celine stopped. A tear fell onto her cheek. “I’m sorry, Alex,” she cried. “You were right. It was foolish to come here.”
“Yes, it was foolish, but not unforgivable. Your quick temper sometimes gets the better of you, yet your courage is one of your most admirable qualities.”
Celine smiled at him, wiping the tear away. She threw her arms around his neck. “Ironic. You warned Gray to stay away from Marcus this morning and I end up forcing you to confront him.”
Alexander chuckled. “Yes, and Gray will never let us hear the end of it, I’m sure. Come on, let’s return home.”
Damien and Michael ducked as Alexander and Celine made their way past their hiding spot. Earlier, Celine and a reluctant Alexander had entered the Duke’s abode. Celine had appeared to be perturbed. When they emerged, she still appeared upset. They had spoken a few minutes outside of the mens’ earshot, then resumed walking down the path, leaving the house behind.
“What was that about, I wonder?” Michael asked.
“No idea,” Damien answered. “Perhaps she learned that the painting is gone.”
“I wonder…” Michael began.
Damien shushed him and pulled him down for better cover. Damien motioned toward the front porch. They witnessed the figure of the Duke descend the front steps and stroll down the path past them.
“What should we do?” Damien whispered. “Check the house or follow him?” Michael considered the question for a moment. “Come on! We’re going to lose him!”
“Too much chance of running into his servants. Let’s follow him.”
Keeping to the woods, the two followed Marcus, trying to maintain a safe distance without losing their subject. His first stop was a house they were familiar with, the home the VanWoodsens used in their time. They surmised he was visiting with Celeste and Teddy. It also added a potential location for the painting’s whereabouts along with an added complication. If Teddy and Celeste were here, it was another set of individuals they would need to avoid.
Confirmation that Teddy and Celeste inhabited the house came as the trio made their way out of the home, leaving in a carriage. They deduced the unholy trio was traveling into town.
“Now what?” Damien asked.
“Circle back to the Duke’s house? Perhaps Dembe will step out and we’ll find a moment while he’s out where we can slip in and check his house?”
“Okay, sounds like a plan.”
They hurried back toward the Duke’s seaside home. Reclaiming their previous hideout, they resumed their stakeout of the house. Their efforts were soon rewarded. As the afternoon waned, Dembe appeared from the rear of the house, trudging down the path.
“Now’s our chance!” Michael exclaimed after he was a safe distance away.
Damien nodded, and the two dashed for the house. They let themselves in the front door, checking to be sure no one was home. With the coast clear, they whispered a plan. “I’ll start upstairs, you take this floor. We meet back here as fast as possible,” Michael said.
“Okay. I’ll keep a sharp eye out for anybody returning,” Damien agreed.
Michael darted up the stairs to the top floor. Damien glanced around the main level. He began searching the room to his right. It appeared to be the sitting room. He quickly scanned the room. The large painting was not in sight. He opened a few cabinets in a desperate attempt, not believing the painting could fit inside but wanting to be thorough.
He exited the room, continuing down the hall. He found a small study. Entering the room, he glanced around. A cursory scan of the room revealed no painting. He opened cabinets and doors, all locations turning up nothing. He approached the desk and spent a fair amount of time rifling through it. He located nothing of interest and found no references to the painting.
Frustrated, he moved on. Across the hall was a medium-sized dining room. A thorough search of this room yielded no results. The kitchen and the pantry lay at the end of the hall. A methodical search of this area came up blank, too.
He re-entered the hall. There was one doorway left. He was about to open it when Michael rejoined him. “Anything?” he asked.
Michael shook his head. “Nothing. I looked in every corner, closet, and wardrobe up there. Not a trace of it.”
“Nothing on my end either. I have one last door to try.”
“We’ll do it together, it’ll be faster. We’re already pushing our luck spending this much time here.”
“Do you think we should make a run for it? Come back later?” Damien asked.
“No. There’s no guarantee we’ll have this chance again.”
“Okay,” Damien agreed, opening the door. He eyed what lay behind the doorway. He glanced to Michael, gulping, as Michael also stared at the stairs leading down. “Why’d it have to be a dark, creepy basement?”
“It’s not my idea of a good time either, but it is a great place to hide a stolen painting.”
“True. Wait, I saw a lantern in the kitchen.” Damien disappeared, returning with a lit lantern.
“That’s it?” Michael said, eyeing the lantern’s dim light.
“The flashlight isn’t invented until 1899. The dry cell battery was invented a few years before it which is what made it possible for…” Damien babbled, nervous energy spilling out.
“Damien!” Michael hissed. “Now’s not the best time for a history lesson.”
“Sorry,” Damien whispered. “Well, I guess this is all we have, no delaying it.”
They started down the stairs. Each stair groaned under their weight, setting their nerves further on edge. They reached the bottom. The darkened room opened into a large space. Cobwebs decora
ted every corner. Various items laid around the room, some draped with sheets.
Damien gulped again. “Looks like something straight out of a horror movie.”
“Yeah,” Michael agreed.
“Like the kind with a crazed killer.”
Michael nodded. “Yeah.”
“Where the killer comes home and the innocent people are still in the basement and then he…”
“Will you quit it!” Michael interrupted. “I’m creeped out enough!”
“Sorry.”
“Let’s search for the painting and get out of this creepy house.”
“Sounds good to me. Pick a corner, let’s start.”
They selected a corner and began their search, finding nothing but dust and cobwebs and a few random items. They worked their way around the room in a systematic manner. Halfway through their search, a noise sounded overhead. They froze in their tracks, listening hard for the source of the sound.
They soon were able to identify it: footsteps fell on the floorboards above. Damien gaped at Michael, his eyes wide.
“Douse the light,” Michael whispered. Damien complied, extinguishing the flame inside the lantern. The room plunged into darkness. The footsteps continued overhead.
“Sounds like they are going to the kitchen,” Damien whispered.
“Yeah, probably Dembe,” Michael breathed.
“Great! Our way out is in plain view of the kitchen!”
“Yeah, I realize that.”
“We’re trapped here!” Damien uttered.
“Perhaps he’ll leave again,” Michael said, hope filling his voice.
A voice sounded overhead. “Dembe, I’ll take my dinner in the study. I have some work to complete,” said Marcus Northcott.
“Oh, great,” Michael groaned.
“Dinner? He’s here for the night.”
Michael sighed. “Looks like our luck has run out.”
“Yeah, we’re trapped.”
With their eyes adjusting to the darkness and the room cast in the moonlight, Michael made his way to the adjacent wall. He sat down, leaning against it. “Might as well settle in, Damien. We’re here for the duration.”
Stolen Portrait Stolen Soul: A Shadow Slayers Story (Shadow Slayers Stories Book 2) Page 22