Acolyte to Priestess - The Twelve Crimes of Hannah Smith Series

by Alp Mortal

  “The ‘Medici Quartet’…”

  “What of it?”

  “You want that too.”

  “Yes; but I’m never likely to get it …”

  “How much would you be prepared to pay for the pleasure of having it?”

  “With good title? Half a million; without, two hundred thousand pounds.”

  “You’d willingly pay two hundred thousand pounds for a painting you couldn’t admit to owning, and if it was stolen from the Fotherington Show, everyone knows you want it so all fingers would point here … that's a hell of a risk you’d be prepared to take …”

  “Virginia; I have wanted that piece for as long as I can remember. The empty space where it would hang is like a demon taunting me … it completes the collection, along with ‘The Quarrel’…”

  “And the ‘Maplin’?”

  “An inferior piece compared to ‘The King’s Men’…”

  “Still; all together they would be magnificent.”

  “You have two of them; are you suggesting to me that I can have them all?”

  “For half a million pounds you can have them all and ‘The Medici Quartet’ would come with good title …”

  “I don’t believe you can persuade James to sell it; without it, there is no Fotherington!”

  “Let me worry about that … Are we agreed; half a million pounds for all three paintings?”

  “… ‘The Quarrel’, ‘The Maplin’ and ‘The Medici Quartet’, along with my ‘The King’s Men’ would complete a life’s work; there would be no finer collection.”

  “So?”

  “You have my word; half a million pounds with good title. Can you leave ‘The Quarrel’ tonight?”

  “Only if you show me the ‘Ann Boleyn With Child’…”

  “Ms. Musgrave; that painting has never been seen by anyone else alive today.”

  “I know … but I want to see it.”

  Forbes possessed a painting of Ann Boleyn painted during her confinement with Elizabeth; it was a rare and candid portrait of a young woman who believed she would have it all. The parallel was a little too obvious for Hannah but fine art was becoming like a drug to her; almost as potent and addictive as stealing it!

  “Follow me,” said Forbes, and he got up and waited for Hannah to reach his side of the table before escorting her to an interior room on an upper floor, which was windowless and panelled in rich oak. The heavy door was locked of course, and the key was itself locked away in a chamber which Forbes darted into en route. The painting was behind a solid box frame, which itself was locked, and Forbes carried that key with him at all times. He seemed to rejoin her as he unlocked it, having retreated somewhat since making the offer.

  “This painting started my collection. It nearly bankrupted me then; all my hopes were hung with it. I have to say, I fared better than she; much like the infant she was carrying … of course her future was uncertain as was mine until history took its fateful turn …”

  “How different history could have been,” injected Hannah.

  “Quite!”

  “Thank you …”

  “No one else will see this until after I die; if you do not get me ‘The Medici Quartet’ I will have you killed …”

  “If you threaten me, Forbes, I will steal this and burn it on the lawn in front of the house.”

  “I believe you would … I have no fear that you won’t get me what I want.”

  They returned to the salon for coffee, and Alistair made a re-appearance.

  “Alistair; ‘The Quarrel’ remains with us … be so kind as to show Virginia out; I will retire now …”

  He left and Alistair looked expectantly at Hannah.

  “Collect ‘The Maplin’ at your leisure, Alistair,” Hannah said, “I will deliver ‘The Medici Quartet’ after the Fotherington Show, in four weeks. Upon delivery, I require an untraceable bearer bond for five hundred thousand pounds …”

  “Splendid, Ms. Musgrave; I believe you know what Forbes will do if you fail him.”

  “And he knows what I shall do if he fails me … Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Hannah drove back to the mews cottage in Chelsea while her stomach alternately flipped back and forth; the stakes could not be higher or the adrenalin pumping any quicker!

  Chapter Three – James Fotherington

  Hannah had contacted James Fotherington just before the opening of the gallery to see, very tongue in cheek, if he would loan the ‘Quartet’ for the purposes of the exhibition. But not even Hannah’s ample charms and the other two paintings which she planned to exhibit alongside it could persuade James to relinquish the ‘Quartet’ even for a day; the painting had never left the house in Chilham since the day that Elizabeth had gifted it to the family.

  Being good natured, he did suggest that perhaps she could loan ‘The Quarrel’ for the show, and that was how it was left. Clearly that was not possible now but the game had many levels; just as Forbes was hell-bent on acquiring ‘The Medici Quartet’, James was equally keen to acquire the ‘Ann Boleyn With Child’. He considered Fotherington to be its rightful home.

  Rivals make for such interesting sport!

  The day after the dinner with Forbes, Hannah telephoned James to apologize for the fact that the ‘Quarrel’ would not be coming after all.

  “I’m so sorry, James. Forbes made a silly offer conditional on the painting being delivered immediately, along with ‘The Maplin’; I couldn’t refuse.”

  “I understand perfectly, Virginia; Forbes can be very persuasive and he has exceedingly deep pockets.”

  “I traded for a peek at the ‘Ann Boleyn With Child’; it seemed only fair.”

  “And he showed you?!”

  “Of course … I can be equally persuasive, James.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt … but that painting has not been seen by another living soul.”

  “It has now … He only wants the ‘Quartet’ to complete his life’s work. I believe he will expire if all the paintings were finally together at Rosebriars.”

  “Quite possibly; are you still coming to the show?”

  “Oh yes; I wouldn’t miss it for the world … and I can tell you about the Hapsworth miniature too-”

  “Good God! Did you have him eating out of your palm as well?”

  “Not exactly … See you next week, James; I’m staying locally so perhaps we could have dinner one evening.”

  “I’m sure we can manage that; goodbye, Virginia.”

  “Bye, James …”

  Forbes was right; there would be no Fotherington without the painting, and the annual show, which lasted a week, drew a modest crowd. The money kept the house but very little else. James was actually quite poorly off though he would never admit to it.

  “He really needs the ‘Boleyn’ to put Fotherington on the map and safeguard his future but he has no money and he didn’t even bid for ‘The Quarrel’. With the future of the house looking so uncertain these days, I wonder just how desperate he is …”

  Hannah drove down in the Jaguar and checked into the local hotel for a few nights, calling in on James the following morning, one day before the show opened. The house was busy and James looked harassed.

  “Not there, there!” he was screaming when Hannah arrived, and she smiled encouragingly as he turned around.

  “Virginia?”

  “Yes, it is; hello, James.”

  He shook her hand warmly and escorted her to his study for a coffee.

  “It gets harder every year, I swear it.”

  “This will be my first time …”

  “It’s rather quaint in its way. I can’t stand the thought of the house being open all year round; just for a week is bearable - small, select crowds and no coaches!”

  “But no tourist dollars or yen either, James …”

  “No …” he replied wistfully, “Still; it doesn’t always have to be about the money does it?”

  “No; you’re right, but it can’t be
any cheaper to maintain this property year-on-year.”

  “Quite the opposite; it’s getting damn expensive and you can’t find the craftsmen these days.”

  Their conversation went on in a similar vein for half an hour, until James asked, “Do you want to see the ‘Quartet’ before the hordes?”

  “Oh, James; really? That would be wonderful …”

  He towed her to a library-style room. The painting was on an easel, propped up in a corner.

  “Not locked away like the ‘Boleyn’…” Hannah remarked.

  “I can’t believe he showed it to you. I’ve asked - even offered to pay - but he has refused point blank.”

  “You didn’t have ‘The Quarrel’ to offer in fair trade.”

  “If I had those paintings, all together, what a show we would have then!”

  “What would you give to have all those paintings, James?”

  “Your tone suggests that you were asking seriously.”

  “I was …”

  “Half a million; it’s all that’s left in the kitty. It’ll see me to the grave if I’m lucky, but then everything will go unless I do something.”

  “For half a million I will get you, with good title, all the paintings that you want, which includes ‘The Maplin’, ‘The King’s Men’, ‘The Quarrel’ and the ‘Boleyn’…”

  “You’re jesting; he won’t part with any of them … not willingly.”

  “Maybe not willingly, but part with them he will.”

  “Get me the paintings and I’ll pay you half a million.”

  “Deal! Shall we have dinner tonight? My treat; and the hotel’s menu is pretty good.”

  “I would be delighted.”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “See you then.”

  “Bye …”

  They did dine; both flirted outrageously and their tinkle of laughter was heard all evening.

  “Good night, James. I’ll see you tomorrow, and if you truly want all the paintings then I will get them for you …”

  “I do; but I don’t see how you can, not with good title. He’d burn them on the front lawn before he parted with them …”

  Hannah just smiled as she gave him a tender little kiss on the cheek.

  “Patience, James; we all get what we want in the end … Sleep tight.”

  James went back to Fotherington euphoric if not a little bemused. A nut of certainty was growing in the pit of his stomach that something would - had to - happen, and to finally best Forbes and be able to show all the paintings would be the culmination of his own life’s work. Christ; he might even allow coaches!

  Hannah went upstairs very happy with her progress. All she needed to do now was to decide which of these vain arses she was going to make triumphal and who was least likely to bear a grudge. That would seem to be James but it was all too easy to fall for the faded gentility and quaintness; both had the money so it boiled down to which one represented the least risk on her part.

  “Of course, Hannah, you could always alleviate them both of their burdens and double your takings …”

  Hannah didn’t know who this inner voice belonged to. She mused that she must be the reincarnation of some great art thief; whoever it was seemed to be looking out for her interests so she didn’t mind.

  Chapter Four – The Fotherington Show

  Hannah had breakfast, freshened up, and then walked the relatively short distance to the house for the show which opened its doors at eleven o’clock. Having seen the painting the day before, she didn’t really need to go, but having promised James, she put her best foot forward.

  The car park was full by the time she got to the house, and being the first day of the annual show, it was bustling. The tour was lead through the lower portion of the house, and in one room - the big study - the painting was now on display, protected behind a thick silk cordon. Security was deliberately understated but if the painting was moved, the alarms went off and the hounds of hell were let loose. Everyone shuffled past in orderly fashion and in near silence. No photographs were permitted but prints in three sizes were available in the small gift shop. James just hovered, pressing palms with regular goers and smiling all the time - also mentally totting up the takings and whether the leaky roof would finally be fixed this year.

  Hannah paid and toured; it meant she saw the rest of the collection, which was impressive if a little thin in parts.

  “Virginia! Good morning; a splendid turn out as you can see,” said James, catching up with her as she got to the end.

  “Well done, James, and the best of luck with the rest of the week; I’ll be in touch in about two weeks.”

  “Okay … I’m feeling quite sick with the anticipation; promise me this isn’t a cruel joke.”

  “This isn’t a cruel joke … By the way, what service did the family render the Queen that brought about the gift in the first place?”

  A shadow passed across James’s face; it was almost undetectable but in that nanosecond, Hannah knew that what he was about to say was going to be a complete lie.

  “Immediately after the defeat of the Armada the nation needed ships, and my ancestor, Henry Fotherington, provided a large quantity of the timber that was required to rebuild the fleet …”

  “Fascinating period of our history I always think,” ventured Hannah.

  “Yes, it is …”

  She left shortly afterward, having the feeling that he knew that she knew that he had told a lie. Since the family name, the estate and its fortunes were built on this story, it was going to take more than a little delving to ferret out the truth.

  “No one said that this job was easy, Hannah,” she mused.

  Before she left the village, Hannah visited the family graveyard and took a large number of photographs. It wasn’t immediately apparent where the flaw lay but it was there somewhere. After a brief visit to Rochester, she returned to London and headed for the gallery, which had been closed. Two letters were in the post box; the first a bill for the electricity and the second from Forbes Darlington, which read -

  ‘Dear Virginia,

  I hope you are enjoying the show. Did you inform James it would be his last? I suspect not. Alistair will call on Thursday to pick up ‘The Maplin’ and I expect the ‘Quartet’ to be delivered a week after that, Friday at the latest. Come to dinner; I am relishing listening to the story of how you prised the painting out of James’ clutches and got good title to it.

  Adieu!

  Forbes.’

  “Smug bastard …”

  It was late by now and the journey had been tiring so she went straight to bed and began to recall the names of the Fotherington’s since the first - Henry - in preference to counting sheep.

  Chapter Five – Where historians fear to tread

  Research was bread and butter to Hannah and she was extremely thorough. With her orderly mind and her knack for seeing connections, it took two days and a morning at the Records’ Office to find the key to why James Fotherington was attempting to ‘touch up’ his portrait.

  “Ah!” was all Hannah allowed herself at the time of the final discovery.

  Thursday came and ‘The Maplin’ was picked up by Alistair.

  “A week tomorrow, Virginia.”

  “I hope that isn’t Forbes’ way of frightening me.”

  “Just a gentle reminder.”

  “None is needed, and if he does it again, I’ll burn the Boleyn in front of his eyes … I’ll see you next week on Friday - oh! Could you tell Forbes that the Hapsworth miniature is most likely a fake? Henry’s father did own the miniature but sold it surreptitiously before the end. A colleague of mine has stumbled across something. By next Friday, I’ll know for sure if he did sell it and to whom … If I’m able to confirm that, then Forbes can no doubt sue Henry and get his money back.”

  “Friday will prove to be an interesting day all round.”

  “Goodbye, Alistair …”

  Hannah had relayed the information to rattle Forbes; she had
no idea if the miniature was fake or genuine … yet!

  She donned her new disguise to see how it suited her; an older woman, perhaps forty, regal, noble - a lady, a Fotherington, and one demanding her rightful inheritance. Hannah had the proof that James was not all Fotherington - quite the bastard in fact, and Lady Jane Fotherington was about to bring an end to his little charade.

  The real Lady Jane Fotherington was in an asylum in Switzerland; a fact that was not widely known. Hannah rented a Mercedes sports car and drove down to Fotherington on the last day of the show. Choosing her moment carefully, to make the biggest scene possible, she announced her arrival and demanded to know why the house was full of strangers and where the devil was James. He was hurriedly found.

  “Lady Jane?”

  “Yes, James! The very same; cured and back for what is rightfully mine!”

  “But Fotherington is my home. What about the show; the painting?”

  “Keep the house but I want the painting!” she hurled back.

  “The painting has never left this house; it is the centerpiece of the collection. The show is the highlight of the calendar; you can’t take it-”

  “I can and I will! No little bastard is going to stop me. If that painting is not put into the boot of my car within the hour, I will publicize your grubby little heritage, and after that there will be nothing!”

  “Please, Jane; you’ll ruin me. The house costs a fortune to maintain and the coffers are empty.”

  “If you give me the painting then I’ll give you the Hapsworth miniature.”

  “But you don’t have it; Henry sold it to Forbes Darlington to pay his father’s death duties.”

  “It wasn’t his to sell.”

  “You honestly think Forbes will hand it over to you?”

  “He has no choice, and if he doesn’t, then I’ll publicize his part in the ruse.”

  “Take the painting but I must have the miniature.”

  “You will - by the end of next week. Update, James; change the formula and I would seriously think about selling up.”

  James had the painting packed and put into the boot of the Mercedes.

  “I’ll see you next week, James; don’t look so downhearted, you’ll have the miniature …”

  Hannah drove off and headed back to the gallery to ‘sell’ the painting to Virginia Musgrave for half a million pounds, after which, Lady Jane went back to Switzerland to re-commence her treatment. Hannah as Virginia had good title to the painting and the payment for the painting was simply made by transferring the amount out of one of her accounts into another that she had.