“I will admit candidly that it is more difficult than I had anticipated. Furthermore, I’ve been rather distracted lately.”
He handed me a parcel wrapped in brown paper. “I’ve been told more than once that racing about town horrifying society matrons is immensely time-consuming.” He smiled. “I found this last weekend when I was in the country and thought it might be of some use to you.” Inside was a well-used copy of an elementary Greek grammar. “It was mine at school and served me well.”
“Thank you, Colin. That is very kind of you.”
“It’s delightful to meet a woman who wants to broaden her mind; I consider encouraging you my moral duty.”
“I’m not sure that I like being someone’s moral duty,” I exclaimed.
“I did say it with a touch of irony, Emily, and cannot believe that such a tone would be lost on you.”
“Of course it was not, Colin, but I in turn cannot believe that you would think I could pass on an opportunity to tease you.” I looked directly at him. “Did you dance with me in Paris out of the same sense of duty?”
“No, I did not,” he replied, steadily meeting my gaze, “and I hope to dance with you again.”
“I’d rather not shock Davis today. He’s been quite understanding about the port.”
“You are wonderfully easy to be with,” he observed. “You have settled well into this house and now seem to belong in this library. I think Ashton would be surprised.”
“Why?”
“I wonder if he knew the depth of the woman he took as his bride.”
“The truth is that I was not particularly deep when I married him.” I sighed. “And since I have already told you all my horrible secrets, I will confess that I do sometimes imagine that Philip and I would have found ourselves happily engaged in academic discussions, but I wonder if that really could have happened. I do not think I would have ever developed the interests I have now if he had remained alive.”
“That is not so surprising. You would have been neatly packaged into the role of wife and, before long, mother, with scant time or opportunity to consider any other path. It is unfortunate that so little is expected of wives from an intellectual point of view.”
“I believe most men prefer it that way, Colin,” I said.
“I would not. I am confident that most of the women I encounter would bore me to death before the first leg of our wedding trip.”
“So you are a confirmed bachelor?” I asked.
“I suppose so.”
“You deal a great blow to the mothers of London’s unmarried girls.”
“My work requires a fair amount of travel that would not be appreciated by most wives,” he said.
“I have driven past your lovely estate and would be shocked if there were not plenty of women who would gladly be ensconced there while you are away.”
“I am not so desperate for an heir.”
“Ah, the pleasures of the common man,” I teased. “Thank goodness you have no hereditary title to worry you.”
“Yes, I have been spared that burden,” he said. “I need only be concerned about the estate and fortune.” We both laughed.
“What is your work, Colin? I can’t remember that Philip ever told me.”
“He probably had more interesting stories with which to regale you. He was, after all, trying to impress you.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that a man of your station would work. What do you do?”
“Nothing of significance,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “Merely a bit of politics. Terribly boring.”
“Why does politics bring you abroad so often?” I asked.
“You are full of questions today, aren’t you? I shall put a stop to them by revealing to you the other present I have for you.”
“What is it?” I asked, full of curiosity.
“I’ve ordered a case of ’87 port to be laid down for you—the Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee vintage. Andrew Palmer is not the only man who can assist in your corruption.”
“Thank you, Colin. That will be delightful, even if you have done it only out of a sense of moral obligation. You must come to dinner and have some.”
“It will not be ready to drink for another thirty years, Emily.”
“Right,” I said. “I shall make a note in my diary and be sure to invite you.”
“I look forward to it.” He rose to leave. “Enjoy your Greek, Emily.”
“I shall, Colin, very much. Thank you again.”
“Oh—and I must thank you.” He pulled an evening glove out of his pocket. “I must have lost this the night of your dinner party. Glad Davis didn’t throw it out. It’s from my favorite pair.”
25 SEPTEMBER 1887
DELPHI, GREECE
The artifacts I have found here are incomparable—some of the most exquisite stonework I have seen. If ever a site begged for systematic excavation, it was Delphi. Almost wish I were not returning to England next month. Lord Bromley has invited me to Darnley House to shoot—I welcome the opportunity to see my darling K. Wedding cannot come soon enough. Perhaps now that the date has been set, Lady Bromley will allow me some time alone with her daughter.
Headed to Athens tomorrow to visit Lysander Vardakas. Have seen his collection of antiquities before—there are few more impressive in private hands—he tells me he has acquired some new pieces of great significance. They cannot be all that he claims, but I still look forward to seeing them.
20
AT LAST THE DAY OF MY MEETING WITH MR. ATTEWATER arrived. Our rendezvous, which proved more educational than I could have imagined, began outside the museum, where we sat on a bench for nearly half an hour talking before we went inside. As I listed the items I wanted to look at with him, he immediately recognized each and assured me that he knew their locations in the gallery.
He seemed completely at ease in the British Museum and knew the Greco-Roman collection in great detail. He had an unmistakable admiration for his ancient colleagues and clearly considered himself to be their equal.
“I must admit that you surprised me in Paris, Lady Ashton, when you said that you could see beauty in copies. It is an opinion so unlike that of your husband.”
“You told me you did not know him well,” I replied, trying not to look down at my companion, who stood several inches shorter than myself.
“No, I did not. Lord Ashton had no interest in my work. As you surely know, he purchased only originals.”
“Yes, Mr. Attewater. I am keenly aware of that.”
He led me to the first item on my list, the bronze statue Ivy had found so amusing. “I do not work with bronze much. There are a huge number of chemicals one can use to achieve just the right patina on metal, but I prefer the feel of marble. Nonetheless”—he paused as he circled the case wherein the statue rested—“I did produce a copy of this for one of my…er, patrons.”
“Mr. Attewater, I remember you said in Paris that your work can be found in some of the world’s best museums. Is that true?”
“It is, Lady Ashton.”
“Did you make this statue?”
He peered closely at the figure, pulling a magnifying glass out of his coat pocket and examining as best he could the cloak hanging over the figure’s arm.
“Yes! That is mine!” he exclaimed.
I admonished him to speak more quietly, hoping that no one else in the gallery had noticed his outburst.
“There is no question about it.” He polished the magnifying glass on his waistcoat and beamed proudly as he looked at the statue. “I left a mark on the underside of the cloak. Take a look.” He handed me the glass, and I peered at the cloak. Although barely visible, they could be seen: two tiny Greek alphas.
“A.A.,” he said, smiling. “My initials.”
“Yes, I understand.” I nodded slightly.
I ushered him away from the statue, not wanting to draw anyone’s attention. As we continued from piece to piece, the reaction was the same. Mr. Attewater
recognized all of them as his own work and on many was able to show me his hidden double alphas. I grew more and more depressed as I realized that every artifact currently in my country library was something that belonged in the British Museum. Apollo, it appeared, was not an anomaly.
“Don’t you worry,” I asked my companion as softly as I could, “that someone at the museum will notice your alphas? Surely the penalty for such an offense is great?”
“Lady Ashton, I assure you I have done nothing wrong. I have been commissioned on numerous occasions to copy pieces from the venerable halls of this museum. As you have seen, I produce them to the best of my abilities and collect my payment. What the purchaser chooses to do with them is none of my concern.”
“But surely you knew what was going on.” I could not believe that Mr. Attewater was entirely innocent in the matter.
“My art, Lady Ashton, has been largely unappreciated by the public from the time I began to sculpt. After years of trying to succeed on my own, I realized that I could earn enough money to keep my studio by copying antiquities. Is that a crime? I have never received outrageous payment for any of my works. Believe me, were I to sell them as originals, they would command far higher prices. Furthermore, if I were going to attempt to deceive a buyer about the origin of a piece, I obviously would not sign it.”
I looked at Mr. Attewater’s worn but well-cared-for suit, noted his dignified manner, and found myself believing him. Here stood a man who wanted to be great; if he had money, he would spend it and not wear something so decidedly out-of-date.
“Why would a person come to you instead of using the museum’s casting service?”
“They do not offer reproductions of every piece in the museum. Furthermore, I work much more quickly than they do.”
“Yet if your clients are, as it seems, replacing original antiquities with your copies, don’t you worry that someone in the museum will notice your initials and hold you responsible for the crime?”
“These pieces have been here for years. Their provenances were verified and the objects examined thoroughly before the museum purchased them. No one has a reason to doubt them now. The experts did all their work on the true originals.”
“How does one go about copying the originals?”
“All I need are the precise dimensions of an object and a good sketch. I can get that in a relatively short period of time. My patrons would get me into the museum after hours. It’s not as difficult as you might think.”
“It’s a very clever scheme,” I admitted, and looked at Mr. Attewater. “Doesn’t it bother you that others are profiting from your work when you receive so little?”
“I get enough.” We passed a bust of Julius Caesar. “That is not mine,” he whispered, “but it is clearly a fake. The dark color of the marble is achieved through liberal application of tobacco juice, and the pits over the surface come from banging on the sculpture with a brush with metal spikes. It works beautifully.”
“Amazing,” I said, looking at poor Caesar. “But how can you tell it is not authentic?”
“The beauty of a forgery, Lady Ashton, is that there typically is no definitive proof. But here the artist was not an expert.” He motioned to the area between Caesar’s eye and his hair. “The surface is perfect wherever there is a contour. Everywhere else is pitted to make the marble look aged. I would not have made such a mistake.”
“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.
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