"But you do not make sculptures designed to deceive, Mr. Attewater." I raised my eyebrow and smiled at him.
"Touché, Lady Ashton," he replied, bowing slightly to me.
I decided to ask him directly the question that was plaguing me. "Did my husband hire you to make the copies you have shown me?" He did not answer. "Please, you must tell me. I need to know his involvement in this scheme. Did he plan it?"
"I am afraid that I cannot reveal the names of my patrons. I should never work again."
"But you say you are a legitimate artist."
"I am." He began peering at Caesar through his magnifying glass. "But my customers do not always share my scruples." He stood as straight as possible and looked directly at me. "I can, however, ease your mind on one point. I have never done any work for Lord Ashton."
"Thank you, Mr. Attewater." I sighed. "But that does not mean he did not plan this intrigue. It is possible that he had an underling deal with you."
"I had not thought of that," he replied. "However, my buyer is a respected gentleman whom I would not expect to do someone's bidding, so perhaps all Lord Ashton did was buy the stolen originals."
"One hardly knows what to think, but either way it does not look good for Philip," I said. "Why have you told me all this, Mr. Attewater? Don't you fear exposure?"
"I have nothing to fear, Lady Ashton. I have done nothing wrong." He smiled slyly.
"I like you, Mr. Attewater," I said as we continued our stroll through the museum. "I want to commission a work by you."
"I am immensely honored, Lady Ashton. What would you like me to copy?"
"I don't want a copy, Mr. Attewater. I want you to design me an original of your own in the classical Greek style. I like your work and want to see what you can do when not constrained by having to copy something else."
"Do you want it to look ancient?" he asked, his eyes full of light.
"No, do no deliberate damage. I shall not hide the fact that the piece is modern."
"Thank you, Lady Ashton," he said with great dignity. "I shall not disappoint you."
"You're welcome, Mr. Attewater. Perhaps we can get you a more legitimate following of admirers." As I smiled at him, I saw Arthur Palmer rushing past us. "Good day, Mr. Palmer," I called to him. "What brings you to the museum today?"
"Good day, Lady Ashton, Attewater." He nodded briefly at my companion. "I am to meet Arabella and her mother. If you'll excuse me, I am late." He rushed off almost before I could bid him farewell. He had the nervous look I recognized as one of a man about to propose.
"I shall have to call on Arabella tomorrow," I said to no one in particular. "Perhaps I shall have need for your services again, Mr. Attewater, for a wedding gift."
"Your kindness makes me feel that I must confess one indiscretion in my past."
"There is no need to do so, I assure you," I answered.
"Please, follow me." He led me through gallery after gallery until we stopped before a fragment of an Athenian frieze depicting the head of a young man. "Do you like this?"
"It's lovely."
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Now he took me to the room that held the Elgin Marbles. "Here." He motioned to an object labeled as Slab IV of the North Frieze of the Parthenon. "Look closely. Is anything familiar?"
"Should the other piece be in this room, too? Is it from the Parthenon? It almost looks as if it belongs with this section," I said.
"You are close to the truth. If you have finished with the museum today, I should very much like to tell you something about these two pieces once we step outside."
"You are very mysterious, Mr. Attewater."
I allowed him to lead me out of the building. He looked around in a manner that was meant to appear casual, but I'm afraid he was not particularly successful. Then he stood as near me as he could without being improper and spoke in a low whisper.
"I sold that first fragment you saw to the museum. It is the only time I have misrepresented my work." He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. "I had been hired to copy all of Slab IV-it was an ambitious plan. Evidently my patron had a client who wished to own the original. Can you imagine the price such a thing would fetch?" He looked around again. "The deal fell through for reasons unknown to me. The order for my copy was canceled."
"This, Mr. Attewater, inspires me to ask a great many questions," I whispered back.
"And I am afraid there are few, if any, I would be willing to answer," he replied nervously. "At any rate, I didn't like my work to go to waste, and I had already nearly finished the head I showed you. I could not bring myself to destroy such a beautiful piece, so I made it appear to be an unrelated fragment of its own. I wish you could have seen it before I damaged it. It was exquisite. But it needed to look old, so I hacked up the nose, cheek, forehead, and shoulders, then restored the nose." He stood up a bit straighter now. "A nice touch, I think, doing the restoration. Gives the thing an air of authenticity."
"Yes, but how did the British Museum come to buy it?"
"Money was very tight for me at the time, and I needed more than the piece would command as a copy. With the assistance of a colleague, I invented a decent provenance for the piece, which I said I acquired in Athens."
"You sold it to the museum yourself?"
"I beg your pardon, Lady Ashton, but could you please try to speak more quietly?"
"Of course," I murmured.
"Yes, I represented myself and completed the transaction with the museum."
"I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Attewater," I said, staring at him closely, pleased that he trusted me enough to share his secret. Of course, he could expose Philip as easily as I could expose him, so I suppose he did not take much of a risk.
"I felt you had the right to know. Do you still wish me to create a new sculpture for you?"
"More than ever." I shook his hand. "I am immensely grateful for all the information you have given me. You have cleared up many questions that were plaguing me."
"I am sorry, Lady Ashton, that the answers can bring you little peace." With a smart bow, the little man took his leave from me. I couldn't help but notice a slight spring in his step as he trotted down Great Russell Street, and I hoped that my patronage might allow him to move away from the sordid business in which he was currently involved.
Do not think, gentle reader, that the treasure trove of information given to me by Mr. Attewater did not leave me deeply unsettled. I hardly knew what to worry about first. The fact that so many pieces in the British Museum were forgeries horrified me. The fact that the originals were sitting in the library at my country estate was even more disturbing. But worst of all, my husband, my darling love, a man whom I had come to admire greatly, was no better than a common sneak thief. If anything, he was worse; greed, not poverty, had driven his actions. I felt tears filling my eyes and decided that walking home would do me more good than sobbing in the back of a cab. As I started toward the street, someone called my name.
"Emily!" Arabella waved at me. I had no desire to speak to anyone but did not want to insult her. I waved back and waited for her, along with Mrs. Dunleigh and Mr. Palmer, to come to me.
"Good day, Mrs. Dunleigh, Arabella. I see you found your party, Mr. Palmer." The usual pleasantries were exchanged, and I hoped for a quick escape.
"Arthur tells us you have already been to the museum," Arabella said. "What a pity! You could have joined us."
"I am on my way home," I replied.
"Where is your carriage?" Mrs. Dunleigh asked.
"Actually, I planned to walk. I'm rather looking forward to the exercise."
"Shocking!" Mrs. Dunleigh cried. "My dear child, you must allow me to send you home in our carriage. Our driver has only just dropped us off and is still at the curb. Berkeley Square must be nearly two miles from here, and it is unseasonably chilly today. One would think we were already in the depths of autumn. I should never forgive myself if you fell ill." I knew she was trying to be polite, and I did no
t want to insult her, particularly in front of the man she hoped would soon be her son-in-law. Unwillingly I allowed myself to be helped into the carriage for the short ride home.
It started to rain almost immediately, so I was forced to admit that I was lucky not to have walked. Between the cool, damp weather and my troubled state of mind, I was trembling by the time I reached home. Davis met me at the carriage with a large umbrella and led me into the house. Unfortunately, Berkeley Square did not provide the respite for which I longed. As Davis took my hat, he told me that my mother was waiting for me in the drawing room. I did not want to see her and delayed by having Davis tell her I would be in as soon as I finished an urgent letter. I slipped into the library, sat at Philip's desk, and quickly penned the text of a cable to Ivy, begging that she return to London as soon as possible. Before I could ring to have Davis send it for me, my mother burst into the library.
"This, Emily, is unpardonable!" She dropped onto the settee. "I will not be kept waiting while you answer correspondence."
"Mother, please understand that I had no intention of insulting you."
"I have heard quite enough," she said. "Your behavior of late can be described in no way other than extraordinary. I realize that losing your husband so soon after your marriage deeply distressed you, but do not expect to be able to use this indefinitely as an excuse for unsuitable actions."
"I cannot imagine what I have done now that has you so concerned," I said halfheartedly. She had already delivered a particularly scathing lecture after my now infamous dinner party; it was unlikely she would return to a subject to which she had done justice.
"I have been somewhat concerned at the way you and Mr. Andrew Palmer conduct yourselves. But I am a reasonable woman and realize that the standard of behavior to which you young people hold yourselves these days is not as high as one would hope. The Palmers are an excellent family, although, given their lack of fortune, I would have hoped you would set your sights higher. A woman in your position could easily catch a duke."
"Mother, I am in no mood to discuss whatever marriage plans you have in mind for me."
"I assure you, Emily, that your mood is of no consequence whatsoever to me." She continued without drawing breath. "As I was saying, your shocking behavior with Mr. Palmer I can tolerate. I suppose his unorthodox approach to courtship appeals to you."
"Mother," I tried to interrupt.
She silenced me by lifting her hand. "I shall hear nothing from you until I am finished. Now I have learned that Mr. Palmer has, in fact, proposed to you and that you have refused him. Is this true?"
"Yes." I sighed. I had tried to keep my rejection of Andrew as quiet as possible but knew that inevitably my mother would hear of it. In her opinion there are few crimes greater than turning down an offer of marriage, unless, of course, it is done in an attempt to intensify the rejected gentleman's feelings. She knew well that I deplored the very idea of doing such a thing; it was a subject covered thoroughly between us in the early days after my social debut.
"I would like to believe that you refused him because you are expecting a superior offer from another gentleman?" Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. "No, I thought not."
"Is it so terrible to think that I might never marry again?"
"Yes, it is, Emily. It would be a complete waste of everything. You are beautiful, rich, titled. Our family's history can be traced to the earliest days of England. My dear, had you put your mind to it, you could have married royalty. I will always regret that you showed no interest in Prince George." She dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "Well, he certainly would have no interest in a widow."
"I would imagine not," I said flatly. "Could you perhaps come to terms with the idea that I, like our great queen, prefer to remain a widow?"
"The queen has remained in mourning. Your current behavior is proof that you have no such intention."
I would have liked to point out that there were any number of rumors concerning the queen which implied that she was not really in mourning, but I knew that suggesting such a thing would begin an argument that I had no interest in finishing.
"You cannot have it both ways, Emily. Either mourn your husband or find another."
"I do mourn Philip!" I shouted, rather more loudly than I intended. Tears sprang to my eyes. "You have no idea what I suffer. I will not be judged by you or anyone else. My refusal to marry Mr. Palmer should be no one's concern but his and my own."
My mother shook her head slowly and smiled in her most patronizing fashion. "We shall see, Emily. You may enjoy yourself now, but eventually your looks will be gone. If you insist on remaining a widow, you had better think about changing your behavior, or you will find that the only company you attract will be that of the most desperate fortune hunters. No one else in society would be willing to associate with a woman who so openly flaunts her disregard for social customs. Which leads me to another topic: This insistence of yours on pursuing Philip's intellectual work is very odd. There is no role for women in the academic world. I could not imagine where you would get such ideas until I met your friend, Miss Seward."
"Margaret is the daughter of a very respectable family."
"Emily, what Americans consider acceptable is often questionable at best. Miss Seward's influence on you is distressing. She is taking you down a path that can lead to no good. You have been attending lectures, child. Have you lost all sense of decorum?"
"My behavior is not so bad as you suggest, Mother," I snapped. "I have, perhaps, not always done the right thing but in general am above reproach. If you have difficulty understanding my need for an intellectual life, then I am very sorry for you. One would hope that one's own mother might offer support rather than relishing the role of critic."
"Emily, if I am more critical of you than others, it is only to protect you." She sighed and pulled her gloves back on. "It would be for the best if you were to spend the fall with your father and me in Kent. You clearly are floundering on your own. I can give you no more time today, child. Mrs. Dunleigh is expecting me. Her daughter does not share your lack of interest in the married state."
I did not respond to this, nor did I wait until she left to return to my seat at Philip's desk, furious. I would never marry again after having been so completely deceived by Philip. My thoughts turned once more to Mr. Attewater and the museum. Why on earth had Philip done it? If only he were alive, I could have barged into his library and demanded an explanation, knowing quite well he would be unable to offer anything satisfactory. He would have been shocked to hear me shout at him and most likely would have ordered me upstairs until I could control my emotions. I would have refused, of course, and implored him to remember his morals, his values, and to become again the man we both knew him to be. This would move him greatly; he might even break down and confess that he himself was plagued by his actions and did not know what to do. I would have told him that, maybe, I could find it in my heart to forgive him if he were willing to return everything to the museum. He would have thanked me profusely and congratulated himself on finding such a wife. I sighed. Beastly of him to have died before I had the chance to orchestrate a happy ending.
Ivy appeared on my doorstep the next day, earlier than I could have hoped. She was not surprised to hear confirmation of our suspicions; we both knew it was unlikely that there could be any other explanation. We settled into chairs in the library to discuss how we should proceed.
"Are you absolutely certain that Mr. Attewater will give you no further information?" Ivy asked.
"He was very clear on that point," I replied. "I suppose we cannot expect more of him."
"Well, at least we know that Philip did not contact him directly and arrange for the copies to be made. I'm inclined to believe that he heard of the availability of the pieces and snatched them up."
"Perhaps," I said. "But either way Philip did something both illegal and immoral."
"Have you told Margaret yet?"
"I saw her last n
ight and expect her here at any moment."
Ivy paused. "This must be very difficult for you, Emily."
"To put it mildly," I said, and told her about Andrew's proposal and my mother's visit.
"I do not envy you your mother," Ivy said. "Thank goodness you do not have to live in her house. How did you ever manage to survive all those years? Philip clearly deserves our sympathy, if only because he removed you from an unbearable living situation."
"Yes," I said wryly. "Which would put us back to where we were before Philip became interesting."
"Except that you are in love with him now," Ivy said, the slightest hint of a question in her voice.
"Unfortunately so," I admitted.
Margaret arrived, and we all rehashed what we knew, to little result.
"Terrible that it's too early in the day for port." Ivy sighed, glancing at the clock.
"Do you think that Cécile can be of further help to us?" Margaret asked.
"I have already written to her, asking her opinion. In the meantime I thought that perhaps I could do something similar to what she did in Paris: let it be known that I am in the market for black-market antiquities."
"Do you really think that would be a good idea?" Ivy asked.
"It's an excellent idea, Emily!" Margaret cried. "You must let me assist you."
Before I could reply, Davis announced Colin Hargreaves.
Ivy gasped when she saw him. "Has he grown more handsome since Paris, do you think?" she whispered while Margaret smiled.
After a brief exchange of the required pleasantries, Colin turned to me. "Please forgive my frankness, Lady Ashton, but I do not know any other way to broach this delicate subject with you." I closed my eyes, irrationally certain that he had somehow heard about my refusal of Andrew's proposal. I couldn't imagine what he would say to me on such a topic. I was, however, completely incorrect. "I understand that you met with Mr. Aldwin Attewater in the British Museum. Is this true?"
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