Duplicity

by Sara Rosett

  Jack pushed his coffee cup away and leaned his arms on the table. “So what was the authenticator’s assessment of the painting?”

  “Ewing was cagey. He had equipment trouble. His portable x-ray machine wasn’t working, so everything is on hold. Mr. Vokos refused to let Ewing take the painting. In fact, Vokos said the painting hasn’t left the apartment in nearly a hundred years. Ewing said he’ll return as soon as he has the equipment repaired, or he’ll get another X-ray machine. But either way, it will take several days. Without the X-rays and full lab analysis of the pigments, Ewing refused to say anything definite today. He did allow that the materials, the paint and the canvas, appeared to be consistent with a painting produced in the early twentieth century, but that’s as far as he’d go. It didn’t go over well with Mr. Vokos. He wanted a definite declaration from Ewing. I think the best bet is to finish reading Olive’s report.” Zoe tapped the stack of papers.

  Jack signaled for the waiter. “Coffee?”

  “Sure. Want to read along?” Zoe offered him the pages she’d already read.

  “It sounds more interesting than the thriller I picked up for the trip.”

  Zoe scooted her chair closer to the table and found the place in Olive’s report where she’d left off.

  * * *

  Olive

  5 November, 1923

  Hawthorne House

  * * *

  Olive and Jasper found Carter in the drawing room. He was settled in his chair by the fire and hidden behind a raised newspaper. When they related what had happened, Carter reluctantly folded his paper. “Well, I suppose I’d better come along and check.”

  It seemed to be the least he could do. He was the estate manager, after all. Of course, Olive didn’t voice her opinion aloud. Guests—even uninvited ones—didn’t comment when their host’s behavior was lacking.

  As they made their way through the maze of furniture to the door, Carter asked, “Where did you say this happened?”

  “In the small sitting room.”

  Carter paused at the door, his alert gaze fastened on Olive. “The small sitting room? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, the cheerful room with French doors and paneling.”

  “Right.” Carter let Olive go out the door ahead of him and lead the way, but he nearly trod on her heels as they walked to the small sitting room. He threw open the door and went directly to the painting of the modern woman with the white fur stole, his gaze scanning the canvas.

  “The lock wasn’t forced.” Jasper had crossed to the French door and was pointing at the handle.

  “What?” Carter turned a distracted look on Jasper.

  “It appears the door was either unlocked or the intruder had a key.”

  “Hmm.” Carter examined the door and the muddy footprints. “Someone probably forgot to lock the door. An oversight, you know. Must have been a tramp looking for warmth on a cold night.”

  “Perhaps you should—” Olive broke off. It was too late to mention fingerprints now. Carter had opened the door. The roar of the downpour suddenly filled the room. The patter of rain Olive had heard earlier in the evening must have just been a brief break in the storm. Carter glanced outside, then closed the door, shutting out the pounding rain. He rattled the handle to make sure it was locked.

  Carter turned to Olive and Jasper. “Thank you for alerting me, but nothing seems to have been disturbed. Don’t let me keep you from retiring for the evening.”

  “You don’t think a call to the constabulary is in order?” Olive asked.

  “At this time of night and in this weather? No. There’s no need to make a fuss. And you don’t know our local chaps. You might ring up the police in London, but out here they’re only interested in stolen farm animals and keeping the speed of motors down in the village.”

  Carter opened the door to the hallway for Olive to precede him out of the room, but she hesitated. Surely a break-in—even if someone had just entered the house to get out of the cold—should be reported, no matter how lackadaisical the police were in the area? “I do think Sebastian would like to know—”

  “Of course I’ll inform Sebastian next time I speak with him. I assure you, there’s no need for you to worry. We’re quite a backwater here.” He dipped his head. “I’ll bid you good evening. I’m sure you want to get your rest. So many pictures to inventory, you know.”

  24

  Olive

  6 November, 1923

  Hawthorne House

  * * *

  When Olive awoke the next morning, daylight was seeping through the Virginia creeper, which almost completely covered the windows. As the wind ruffled the vines, filtered sun and shadow shifted across the walls and floor, giving her room an underwater ambiance. It reminded her of the summertime swims she and her cousin Gwen had taken in the river that twisted through the grounds of Parkview Hall.

  She pulled on her dressing gown and went to the window. If she stood on her tiptoes, she could see out of a section of glass that wasn’t covered with vines. Her room overlooked the lawn at the back of the house. Olive was sure that in the summer the view would be a verdant green, but autumn had leached away any emerald color. The view was a sepia-toned landscape in shades of beige, brown, and muted green. The lawn stretched out in a series of gentle slopes to a belt of trees. Unlike the subdued colors of the land, the sky was bright blue.

  A figure emerged from the thicket of trees at the far edge of the lawn. The person was too slender to be Carter, whose middle was quite thick. It was difficult to tell because of the distance, but it seemed to be Hendricks moving across the lawn, carrying a rake propped on his shoulder. He disappeared behind a tall hedge that concealed a small outbuilding or shed. The shingles of the building were just visible from Olive’s high vantage point.

  A few seconds later the man reemerged pushing a wheelbarrow. He trundled it across the grass and out of Olive’s line of vision. Despite the clear, cloudless day, the unencumbered view unnerved her for some reason. She hadn’t realized the grounds around Hawthorne House were so deserted. Beyond the swath of lawn, the trees extended out as far as Olive could see without another rooftop or chimney in sight.

  She shook her head at herself as she lowered her heels to the floor. Surely her short time in London hadn’t given her a city-dweller’s aversion to the empty countryside? She picked up her sponge bag and told herself not to be a silly rabbit. She was a countrywoman, born-and-bred walking the hills and fields of Derbyshire, not some cosseted city girl who exclaimed about her nerves when she experienced the silence of the country.

  She went along to the bath to prepare for the day. She was glad to have this assignment from Sebastian, but she would complete the task as expeditiously as possible. She didn’t want to linger any longer than she had to in Hawthorne House. It was simply because of the limpid welcome and had nothing to do with the sudden feeling of discomfort that had just come over her. Of course that was it.

  Jasper was not the sort to jump out of bed at first light, so she was quite surprised when she found him in the dining room. “Jasper, what are you doing up so early?”

  “Paintings to inventory, old bean. I know you can’t get on without your trusty assistant.”

  “It will go much faster with you. I’m certainly glad to see you. How is the breakfast?”

  “You arrived at just the right moment. Mrs. Lum brought fresh toast and coffee moments ago.”

  “Excellent news.” Olive help herself to eggs, toast, and bacon, then poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table across from Jasper. “Any sign of Mr. Carter?”

  “No. Mrs. Lum hinted he won’t be down for several hours.”

  “Then we should be able to get quite a bit done.” As they ate, they planned a strategy, deciding that they would aim to finish cataloging all the rooms on the ground floor before moving upstairs.

  Olive put down her flatware and picked up her coffee cup. “Did you happen to see which direction the intruder ran off last night?�
�

  “No. But using keen observation, I can conclude he—or she—must have gone toward the back of the house.”

  “Really? Why do you think that?”

  “There’s a tall line of shrubbery blocking off the opposite direction. Unless the intruder had the ability to jump a hedge several feet taller than I am, he must have gone toward the back of the house.”

  Olive rested her elbows on the table as she held her cup between her hands. “I wonder if he went to the little shed to wait out the storm. It’s about halfway down the lawn behind the shrubbery.” She described what she had seen that morning as Hendricks went about his work.

  Jasper said, “I did ask Mrs. Lum if there are any homes nearby. The nearest is over five miles away.”

  Olive studied him over the rim of her cup. “Careful, or you’ll completely smash your careless man-about-town persona.”

  “Come now, I’ve never fooled you for a moment. You know it’s all a ruse.”

  “I do. What I can’t figure out is why.”

  Jasper’s tone shifted. “It’s so much easier to pretend not to care, old bean. One is never in danger of feeling anything too . . . uncomfortable.” His words were quiet, and his usual mocking, half-joking tone was gone. Olive’s heart began to beat quickly, and she didn’t want to examine the reason why. Before she could say anything, Jasper picked up his cup and waved it around the room, his voice taking on its usual light tone. “Besides, an unidentified intruder at a quiet country house? How could one not be interested in finding out more?”

  Mrs. Lum entered to remove their plates. Jasper said to her, “That was a delicious breakfast. Thank you, Mrs. Lum.”

  Her sour expression faded. Olive added her praise as well, but Mrs. Lum was clearly more interested in Jasper’s words than Olive’s. Mrs. Lum had several questions for Jasper. More coffee? Another rack of toast? Perhaps the gentleman would like some kippers?

  Olive hid her smile behind her napkin. He’d always had a way with females. There was something about his teasing, relaxed nature that made people—women especially—long to coax his smile wider or hear him lavish compliments on them. It was the same at Parkview Hall. When he visited, Cook baked him special treats for tea, and all the housemaids tittered anytime he walked by. If he favored them with a wink, they nearly fainted. If Jasper’s charm meant excellent meals and ameliorated the bad feelings belowstairs, Olive was glad.

  As they left the dining room to begin inventorying the paintings in the morning room, Olive said, “Thank goodness I have such a charming assistant. I expect Mrs. Lum will outdo herself with lunch to impress you.”

  “One tries to be as useful as possible. And it was a delicious breakfast.”

  “I agree. I’m just glad you were there to impress on Mrs. Lum how much you enjoyed it. Perhaps it will remove some of the resentment they feel toward us—and by us, I mean you specifically and me by extension.”

  They worked steadily through the morning, then stopped for a brief lunch, which was excellent as Olive had predicted. Carter had a tray in his room, which suited Olive and Jasper. They ate more of Mrs. Lum’s scrumptious fresh bread, this time with ham slices between it, and washed it down with tea. They were back at work again in half an hour, working their way through the inventory of each room on the ground floor. Olive had made her notes in longhand, and Jasper had carted the typewriter from room to room, setting up and clacking away, transferring Olive’s scribbles to neatly typed lists.

  It was nearly teatime when Olive collapsed onto a wooden chair in the library, their last room on the ground floor, as Jasper finished typing her final notes. The typewriter bell rang, and he threw back the carriage. He banged out one more sentence, then rolled the paper out and added it to the stack beside him with a flourish. “There you are, my dear. Fini.”

  “Thank you, Jasper. An excellent day’s work. I think we deserve some refreshments. Perhaps we can have it in the small sitting room.”

  “Jolly good idea.”

  Mrs. Lum poked her head through the doorway. She looked almost friendly as she asked, “Will you be wanting tea in here?”

  Jasper said, “Tea would be marvelous, Mrs. Lum.”

  A pink blush stained her cheeks as she said, “It’ll be right up, Mr. Rimington.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Lum. We thought we’d have it in the small sitting room.”

  She nodded her approval. “That’s a right lovely room. I don’t know why Mr. Carter prefers the drawing room, what with it so cramped in there. I’ll bring the tea along to the small sitting room shortly.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Lum,” Olive called, but Mrs. Lum had already shut the door. “Well, she’s thawed completely—at least toward you.” Olive took the papers with them as they went along to the small sitting room. “Perhaps by the time we leave, she’ll smile at me.”

  Jasper held the door for her. “She’s probably just keeping her distance. You’re rather intimidating.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re a beautiful young woman from London. That combination often results in someone with a supercilious attitude and demanding demeanor. Of course, that doesn’t describe you. You’re refreshingly unaffected.”

  That funny heartbeat thing was back. A few years ago she would have brushed off his comment, saying something like, “Don’t be a goose, Jasper. It’s bad manners to be unkind,” but the little hitch of her heartbeat had thrown her off her normal stride.

  Before she could say anything, Jasper continued. “I’m sure Mrs. Lum is keeping her guard up in case you turn out to be a young woman of the difficult variety. She’ll come around.”

  In the small sitting room, late afternoon sun streamed in through the long windows, giving the room a cozy glow. Olive said, “Oh, it’s even nicer in here when it’s not so overcast.”

  “Olive.”

  She turned quickly at Jasper’s serious tone. He nodded to the wall behind her. “The painting’s gone.”

  The space between the bookcases was bare. The modern painting of the glamorous woman in the fur was missing.

  25

  Jasper gathered playing cards into a stack. He cut the deck with a deft movement. As he shuffled them, the cards fell into place with a soft thrum. “Another game?”

  “No. I can’t concentrate.” Olive stood and moved away from the card table that was wedged among the furnishings of the drawing room. She poked the blazing fire more because she wanted something to do than because it needed attention. She and Jasper were waiting while the police finished in the small sitting room. Despite Carter’s disparaging comments about the police’s competence, they’d conducted what seemed to Olive to be a thorough investigation, fingerprinting the French doors as well as all the surfaces in the room. Then the constable had interviewed everyone in the house.

  Olive replaced the poker and dropped into Carter’s cushy chair. “Who do you think took the painting?”

  “No idea, although I’m sure the first suggestion will be a passing burglar, especially since there was an intruder last evening.”

  “A random burglar is the easiest answer.” Olive ran her finger along a seam of the chair. “Mr. Carter certainly seemed shocked when we informed him the painting was gone.” Olive had expected Carter to be irritated or angry when they brought him the news that the painting was missing, but he hadn’t reacted in that way. He’d looked absolutely floored.

  Jasper dealt out a hand of Patience. “The poor chap did look rather like a trout, standing there opening and closing his mouth.”

  Olive tilted her head. “I think I heard something.” A cadence of footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. She shot out of the chair, threaded her way through the furnishings, and cracked the door an inch.

  In the entry, Carter was opening the door for the police sergeant.

  Jasper’s breath tickled the back of Olive’s neck as he said in a low voice, “You’re not going to eavesdrop, are you?”

>   Olive did her best to ignore the rather delightful shiver that ran through her. “Of course I am,” she whispered back. “We were sent here to inventory the art, and a piece is missing. I want to find out everything I can. If you’re going to be judgmental, then you can go back to your card game.”

  “The game of Patience pales in comparison to a good round of eavesdropping.”

  “Then you’d better come closer—and stop asking distracting questions.”

  Olive shifted to the side so Jasper could step up to the door. He was taller than her and could easily lean in and listen, his head above hers.

  “My questions are distracting, are they?”

  “Yes, they are.” And his presence so close to her was unsettling, but in a fizzy Champagne sort of way. The scent of citrus and cinnamon, Jasper’s shaving lotion, enveloped her. “Now shush.” She leaned her ear against the seam of space between the door and the frame. She focused on the words being spoken, not the way Jasper’s tie, which was inches from her nose, angled to the side as he leaned, or how the fabric of his shirt shifted with his breathing.

  She closed her eyes in an effort to block out the view and concentrated on the words of the police sergeant.

  “. . . assure you, we’ll do everything we can to find the painting. I’ll check about the village, but—”

  “No need for that.” Carter cut in, his words quick. “We don’t want to spread the news far and wide until we’re sure we need to. I mean, it might’ve been someone in the local area.”