Lord Alistair Melchin had been Charles Howard’s friend ever since they had been at Oxford University together, and his lawyer ever since they qualified. It was he who forwarded Charles’ letter to Damaris after he went missing, asking his daughter to take care of his mistress, and there were probably few family secrets that Lord Melchin didn’t know.
The journey to London was mostly silent, with Christopher hiding behind a copy of the Lanford Times, while his wife kept her nose buried in a book. Nathaniel tried to make conversation on a few occasions but the responses he received were perfunctory, and he soon gave up.
They had sent word ahead of their intention to visit, and so Lord Melchin had cleared his diary and was waiting for them. He greeted Damaris warmly.
“As beautiful as ever, my dear. You must be causing quite a stir in the sleepy town of Lanford.”
Damaris blushed, even although she was used to his somewhat effulgent attitude around her.
“And is this your new beau?” he asked, turning to Nathaniel.
“Nathaniel Copley,” he introduce himself. “I am helping Lady Wellesley investigate her fathers… disappearance.”
“Yes, quite.” He turned back to Damaris. “Dreadful business, my dear. As much as I cannot claim surprise at this outcome, it pains me to be proved right.”
“You and me both, Lord Melchin.”
He turned to the other members of the party, although his attitude cooled considerably.
“My condolences, Mr Howard.”
“Thank you. Might I introduce my wife, Hortense Howard.”
“Pleased to meet you, my dear. Well, come through to the office. My clerk has tea and coffee prepared.”
They exchanged a few more pleasantries as the beverages were served and it almost seemed to Damaris that he was trying to delay matters. She had to admit, she wasn’t particularly looking forward to this either.
“I cannot in good conscience read the Last Will and Testament until your brother, or a lawyer acting on his behalf, is present but I see no harm in divulging the general terms; it is my understanding that he has told his daughter of its contents. Aside from a few small, specific bequests, your late father’s estate is divided equally among all three children. He appointed me to act as Executor and although I have yet to receive his death certificate, I have already made a start in collecting the debts of the estate.”
“Debts?” Christopher asked, his coffee cup pausing halfway to his lips.”
“Yes, nothing exceptional but when he disappeared, he obviously left some accounts outstanding. If I recall correctly,” and his tone said that he remembered every detail, “I forwarded the details to you. When the accounts remained outstanding after you had left for France, I wrote to your brother in Edinburgh, who settled them, so the estate owes him that money plus interest. Then there are the taxes on your father’s Lanford home for the past six years, which Lady Wellesley has been covering, as well as the staffing costs, which the estate will repay her for.”
“How much?” Christopher demanded.
“I don’t need repayment,” Damaris insisted.
“I would have to check the final tallies but including those accounts he left unsettled, and estimating the costs his estate has incurred to date, I would say that the estate owes almost a thousand pounds, plus interest.”
“A thousand pounds!”
Damaris actually knew it was more like double that but she hadn’t been keeping the lawyer updated on the taxes or wages she paid. She had never intended to claim the money back, only to keep her father’s home in good condition, just in case he ever did return.
“The estate can afford it,” Melchin declared. “Your father has not been collecting his wage, obviously, but he had savings and other investments, the dividends of which have been paid into his bank accounts. I cannot access those funds until I have the death certificate and am declared Executor but from knowing your father, they should have paid him an annual income in the region of eight hundred to one thousand pounds. Then there is his house, which was free of loans and debts.”
Christopher swallowed and looked a little ill and for the first time, Damaris’ heart softened towards him. He and their father might not have been close, but this had to be affecting him too. Despite the acrimonious relationship between her and her mother, she knew that her death would hurt, even if only to mourn the relationship that they might have had.
She reached over and put her hand on Christopher’s, where he was clenching the arm rest, as if for dear life.
The look he gave her asked if she was insane, and he let go of the arm rest and withdrew his hand. Damaris was hurt but she could hardly expect one kind gesture when he was in pain, to magically mend their fractured relationship. His rejection stung however, and on top of everything else, she had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying.
Nathaniel noticed her distress and took her hand. She squeezed it gently and drew strength from his kind gesture.
“Bottom line, how long will this take and how much can we expect?” Christopher said rather curtly.
Lord Melchin looked appalled. “Mr Howard, your father was my friend, he was brutally murdered before his time, and you-”
“Please.” Hortense sat forward and interrupted him, placing her hand on her husband’s arm. “I think what my husband is trying to say, is that we must return home soon. This is very difficult for him, for all the children, and he meant no disrespect. As much as we would like to enjoy an extended holiday here and see everything settled, we are unable to.”
Damaris hadn’t heard her speak before, so she was surprised to hear such a musical and gentle voice from someone who appeared to have such a cool disposition. Her words were rendered even more lyrical by her soft, French accent.
“Quite,” Christopher agreed. “I do apologise.”
“No, no, I understand,” Melchin seemed charmed by Hortense. “I expect the estate to take a month to six weeks to settle, however that depends on what you want me to do with the house. If you want the property transferred into your names, that is relatively easy but if you wish to sell, that could delay the process. I see no reason that you would have to remain in England however, you could instruct a lawyer to act on your behalf.”
“Well… I would rather get as much as possible settled in person before we leave,” Christopher appeared to be thinking. “I will write to my father-in-law and see if we can be spared for a little longer.”
“I’m sure he will be understanding.”
“Yes, let’s hope.” Christopher seemed a little agitated.
“I believe Mr Howard is keen to know the value of the estate,” Nathaniel stated, which surprised Damaris and she missed the glare her brother gave him.
Neither Nate nor Lord Melchin did however.
“The total value?” Melchin began shuffling papers on his desk. “Since I don’t have access to his bank accounts, I can only estimate the total value but after the estate taxes are paid and including the house, perhaps nine or ten thousand pounds.”
Damaris felt incredibly sad to hear her father’s life turned into a monetary sum; to her, he was priceless.
The meeting was quickly wound up after that and the mood was sombre as they left the offices.
***
Manning’s Auction House was on Davies Street in Mayfair, and Nathaniel directed the carriage there now. He wasn’t sure that his friend would be able to see him on such short notice, and he was even less certain that the visit would be enlightening but he had to try.
Hortense and Christopher seemed none too pleased with the delay, until Nathaniel suggested that they wait in Mivart's Hotel, which was just down the road, and enjoy a snack to tide them over until the evening meal.
Thankfully William Manning wasn’t out seeing a client and was available to see them. It was approaching two o’clock, so after making introductions, Nathaniel suggested that they too head to Mivart’s, since the journey home would take another few hours at least and they would be starving if they d
idn’t eat something.
After making small talk and catching up with each other, Nathaniel got down to the reason they had called in.
“I don’t suppose you have discovered anything about the list of paintings I sent you?” he asked.
“I’ve let it be known that I have buyers who are interested in some of those paintings but I’m getting confusing reports back.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Well most of these paintings have common names, why there must be well over two dozen paintings called Madonna with Child, and even more with some close variation on that theme, so it’s difficult to know which painting is being discussed. There are one or two titles on this list however, which are unique but I’m receiving different reports on them.” He pulled the letter that Nathaniel had sent him out of his pocket, unfolded it and scanned the list. “Take the Blue Boy for example, that could really only mean the painting by Gainsborough, and my friend at Christies swears that the painting was sold about seven years ago, and yet Earl Grosvenor bought the painting in 1809 and says it is hanging in his country house, in Longwood.”
“That is unusual.”
“Yes. Now this one I can't be so sure of but Skull and a Quill probably has to be the still life by Claesz. It’s quite a gruesome painting and I can remember mention of it being sold about six or seven years ago. I have a friend who is a Dutch painter though, and he swears the painting has never left the Netherlands.”
“Do you know who purchased these paintings?” Damaris asked.
“I’m afraid not and they weren’t sold by my auction house, so there are no records I can check.”
“Do you know who sold them, or brokered the sale?”
“I believe that the Claesz was sold by Maurice Leonard, he’s an art dealer here in London. He mostly deals with new artists but he has been known to facilitate the exchange of an Old Master, from time to time. His offices are in Brook Street.”
Damaris vowed to get the sellers name from Mr Leonard but she had one last question for William.
“I don’t suppose you know a gentleman called Wallace Sondham?”
“Of course, most art dealers do. I can't claim to know him well but he’s quite a prolific collector of art and artefacts.”
Wallace Sondham moved to the top of her suspect list.
William had to return to work soon after that, leaving Nathaniel and Damaris alone to discuss what they had learned.
“I think we should go and see Maurice Leonard before we leave,” Damaris suggested but Nate didn’t seem keen on the idea.
“I don’t think we want to tip our hand just yet,” he said, trying to reason with her.
“It seems obvious that someone is selling forgeries and if that painting was sold by Sondham and if my father discovered the fraud, that could explain why he was murdered.”
“But all we will have is proof that he sold a painting; we still have nothing to prove that he had anything to do with your father’s disappearance and without the painting, we have no proof that it was a forgery. On the other hand, if Sondham discovers that we’re investigating him, he’ll have plenty of time to run. Besides, if Leonard is a reputable businessman, he will likely respect his client’s privacy.”
“So what do you suggest?” Damaris crossed her arms over her chest and didn’t care if it looked as if she was sulking.
“I suggest that we come back tonight,” he answered, a sly smile on his lips. “If we take my fastest horses, we can be here in under two hours, you can pick the lock on his office door, then we can search his records and be home before anyone misses us in the morning.”
A slow smile formed on her lips. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
***
Nathaniel wasn’t sure what it was that had him so aroused; the sight of Damaris wearing men’s clothing, the idea of being the only ones awake, or the excitement of breaking the law but right at this moment, all he could think of was throwing her down onto a hay bale and doing very wicked things to her.
They didn’t have time to dawdle however, so he settled for a passionate kiss, before handing her the reins of her horse.
They didn’t talk as they mounted, in fact they hadn’t said a word to each other, but it was a comfortable silence. Once seated, he looked over at her, raising a quizzical eyebrow. She nodded that she was ready and they urged their horses forward.
Their hoof beats sounded incredibly loud in the preternatural silence of the night but it wasn’t long before the house was out of sight and they knew they were safe.
Travelling to London at night time was dangerous but since they were on horseback rather than in a carriage, they were able to avoid the roads and cross the heathland, thereby avoiding any highwaymen and robbers who might be lying in wait to ambush travellers. Still, they each carried a duelling pistol and knife, just in case.
Thankfully the almost full moon and cloudless sky, meant that they had just enough light to see by.
In the event, they made it to London unmolested and headed to Mayfair. They tied their horses’ reins to an iron railing on the corner, so it would be less obvious which property they had broken into. It was a risk to leave the horses unwatched but given that hanging was still often given as a sentence for poaching, Nate was willing to take the risk. Besides, they had only come across three people as they crossed London and by now, even the criminals would likely be tucked up in their beds, or passed out drunk.
The homes and offices on Brook Street were dark and the street lamps had long been turned off, so they had to pause by each door in order to be able to read the engraved brass plaques.
Leonard and Sons Antique, Artefact and Art Dealers was the ninth house and seemed to be an exclusive business, probably operating by appointment only and certain not open to the hoi polloi.
Damaris knelt down and got her lock picks out. Thankfully most of picking a lock was about feeling when the tumblers were aligned, so she didn’t need much light to work by. Nate kept watch as she worked but no one came past.
They slipped into the hallway and closed the door behind them, pausing as they allowed their eyes to adjust to the even lower light inside. After a few moments, they carefully crept towards the first door.
Since it was possible there was a servant still in residence, after all, there were some expensive artefacts here, they were careful to move from room to room as quietly as possible. When they discovered what looked like an office, they opened the shutters over the window, then closed the door after them.
The records in the cabinets seemed to be stored in date order, which would make the search rather arduous since they didn’t know when the painting was sold. Hoping to find a better record, Nate made his way to the desk and began to rifle through the drawers. He found the accounting ledgers and discovered that sales were listed under a description of the item sold. While they wouldn’t help them discover the buyer, it would give them a date to look for.
The accounting ledgers went back ten years and by pointing to the description, he was able to communicate his idea to Damaris.
She began with the oldest ledger and quickly scanned the entries on each page. She found ‘Still Life with a Skull and a Writing Quill’ in the accounts for 1812, sold on the 4th of March.
Now that they had a date, they returned to the filing cabinets and soon found the receipt.
The painting was sold by a Mr C Howard, to a Mr J Coiquaud, minus a 5% commission for the broker, Mr Leonard.
“It looks as if your father sold the painting,” Nate whispered but Damaris didn’t respond, although she had turned deathly pale.
She took the bill of sale from him, folded it up and put it in her pocket. Carefully closing the drawer it was taken from, she made her way to the window and closed the shutters. In the almost pitch blackness, he couldn’t see her any longer but he knew that she was troubled.
In the hallway, the crescent window above the front door gave them just enough light to see their way to it and outsid
e. Nate once again kept watch while Damaris relocked the door, then they returned to their horses, which were still tied to the railing. Damaris swung herself into the saddle and took off without a backward glance, cantering recklessly over the cobbled streets, almost as if she was determined to outrun some danger.
Nate followed as quickly as he dared and when they got onto the heath, he urged his horse to a gallop. Damaris was galloping too but his horse was faster and although it took a while, he managed to catch up with her. He leaned over and took hold of her horse’s reins close to the bit, pulling backwards until the horse slowed.
Damaris urged the horse on, digging her heels into his flanks but with Nate pulling back on his bit, he was confused and anxious, which caused him to rear up, almost striking Nate with a hoof and nearly unseating his rider.
Afraid that Damaris might be thrown, Nate let go of the reins but the danger seemed to have jolted her out of whatever trance she was in and she sat meekly in the saddle, her features a mask of pain.
Nathaniel knew that the horses needed a rest after galloping for so long. Thankfully he knew these lands well, having ridden across the heath hundreds of times as a child, so although they were off course, he knew the way home.
“Come on, there’s a stream not far from here where we can rest the horses” he said, guiding Casabian to the east. Damaris followed.
By the time they reached the stream, Casabian had his breath back and Nate stopped at the edge. He dismounted and left Casabian to drink as he approached Damaris, knowing that his horse was well schooled and wouldn’t wander far.
He helped Damaris down and let her horse make his own way to the water, as he turned Damaris to face him. Her hat had fallen loose during the gallop, allowing her hair to hang free. The breeze pushed strands over her face, which he tucked behind her ears.
“Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
She looked into his eyes and as tears streamed down her face, she said, “I know who killed my father.”
Chapter Twenty One
Nathaniel held her as sobs racked her frame, gently stroking her back and soothing her as best he could. While he desperately wanted to know what she had discovered, he wouldn’t press her until she was ready. As her tears finally subsided, she pulled away and looked up at him.
Her Saving Grace Page 23
