"That is very true," Margaret agreed. "But these grounds are spectacular, Emily."
"You really ought to spend the holidays here," Ivy suggested.
"I shall have to give the matter serious consideration." I wondered what it would have been like to spend Christmas here with Philip. My family, of course, would have visited, as would his. Did he prefer Ashton Hall or London? I had no idea. I looked at Ivy and smiled, knowing how nervous she was at the prospect of hosting her own holiday celebrations for the first time. Robert's mother had already joined them and evidently had a great many ideas about the renovations the couple were making to her former home. Poor Ivy! Her sweet nature made it difficult for her to stand up to her mother-in-law, but I knew that as time passed, she would find her own mischievous, though harmless, ways of making sure she was the only mistress of her estate.
The carriage stopped in front of the magnificent house, and I looked in wonder for several moments before accepting the footman's assistance in descending to the drive. I wished that Cécile were with us, as the façade reminded me a bit of Versailles, albeit on a slightly smaller scale. Mrs. Henley, the housekeeper, greeted us at the door and began immediately apologizing for the state of the interior.
"I assure you I am not here to judge you, Mrs. Henley. I've only come to take a look at the place; I'm sorry I haven't done so before. I realize that you had very little warning of my arrival."
"His lordship sent so many boxes and asked that they not be disturbed. Emory stacked them in the library." The man standing at her side bowed slightly. "We didn't know what to do with them after we heard of Lord Ashton's death, madam, and didn't want to disturb you."
"Please do not worry yourself, Mrs. Henley. You've done quite well. What are these boxes, Emory?"
"I couldn't say, madam. They arrived quite regularly for several months before your wedding, so I assumed they were items you and his lordship had purchased to redecorate the house." I looked at my friends and raised an eyebrow before replying.
"Would you please take me to the library?"
"Of course, madam."
"Shall I bring you some tea, your ladyship?" Mrs. Henley inquired. "You must be in need of refreshment after your long trip. Those railroads are not as comfortable as they might be."
"That would be lovely, Mrs. Henley." I smiled. Margaret, Ivy, and I followed Emory through a seemingly endless maze of rooms until we reached the largest library I had ever seen in a house. The housekeeper told us it contained more than thirty thousand volumes, a number I would not have believed had I not been standing in their midst when I heard it. Margaret was immediately drawn to them and began investigating the contents of the shelves. Massive fireplaces stood at either end of the room, and the remaining wall space was lined with bookshelves that rose to the ceiling, whose gilded stucco was painted with scenes from Greek mythology. The furniture, although very masculine looking, was made from a light-colored wood, brightening the room. Sunlight poured through tall French doors that overlooked the gardens behind the house. Altogether it was a very pleasant library. The only fault, as Mrs. Henley had warned us, was an extremely large pile of shipping crates in the middle of the floor.
"What on earth do you think could be in them?" Ivy asked, trying to peer into one.
"Let's find out." I motioned for Emory to open the box nearest to me.
"Shall we try to guess what it is?" Ivy asked. "Hunting trophies?"
"I hope not!" I exclaimed.
"I beg your pardon, your ladyship, but those come in much larger crates," Emory said apologetically.
"Maybe wedding gifts from Philip?" Ivy suggested.
"That hardly seems likely." I smiled. "I'm certain he would have told me of their existence." I thought of the moment on our wedding night when he had presented me with my gift, a delicate ivory brooch set in gold. He gave it to me while we lay in bed under a mountain of down-filled blankets after having, as my mother would say, performed our marital duties. The memory brought a bright smile to my face that quickly disappeared when I saw what Emory held up to me after unwrapping miles of packing material: a lovely statue of the goddess Aphrodite. I looked at my friends knowingly.
"I didn't realize they were antiquities, madam. Would you like to display them with the others?"
"No, Emory. I'd like to open them here and set them up temporarily over there," I said, nodding in the direction of a group of long tables. "I'd like to catalog them before we do anything else."
"Would you like to see the house while I unwrap the rest, madam?"
"That's an excellent idea, Emily," Ivy said. "Shall I ring for Mrs. Henley?" I didn't really want to leave the library but agreed with Ivy nonetheless, knowing that it would take considerable time for Emory to open all the boxes.
"Would you mind if I stay here?" Margaret asked. "It's a spectacular library."
"Not at all. Enjoy the books," I replied. "You may send for someone to help you if you like, Emory," I said as Ivy and I embarked upon our tour.
"Thank you, your ladyship, but Lord Ashton preferred that none of the staff but myself touch his antiquities," Emory replied, standing proudly as he spoke. "Except for Mr. Davis, of course."
Ivy laughed softly as we left the room. "What would Philip say if he knew you allowed a mere parlormaid to dust his bust of Apollo? Especially given the end result?"
"Not amusing," I scolded. The splendor of the house soon captivated me, and for over an hour I forgot about Praxiteles and the forgers. Every room was beautifully furnished in the height of luxury, walls covered in silk, floors carpeted with the finest rugs from the Orient. Not surprisingly, my favorite room was Philip's gallery, which was filled with the most exquisite Greek antiquities I had seen outside of a museum.
"I could definitely live here," Ivy said, sighing.
"It's a magnificent house," Mrs. Henley agreed. "And the family has always been wonderful. The viscount was a bit eccentric, but I imagine you know that as well as anyone, madam. Nothing wrong with poking about in museums, I suppose, but I could do without his hunting trophies. Too many of them, I've always thought."
"The hunting trophies!" I cried. "I had completely removed them from my mind. Take us to them, Mrs. Henley."
When at last we came to the end of a series of long hallways and the housekeeper opened the door, I could barely contain myself.
"Oh, dear, Ivy, this is the most dreadful room I've ever seen!" I cried. "Margaret must see it."
"This is the oldest section of the house, madam, the old medieval hall."
"Yes, that explains the size," I said. The immense room was packed with stuffed and mounted animals of every size and shape; heads of more unfortunate beasts lined the walls.
"There's his elephant, Emily," Ivy said, pointing across the room.
"Mr. Hargreaves was kind enough to arrange for the taxidermy and shipment from Africa," Mrs. Henley said.
"What on earth does one do in a room like this?" I asked.
"If I may, Lady Ashton?" Mrs. Henley said, hesitating.
"Please go ahead."
"The gentlemen liked to come in here with their port and cigars after dinner and exchange hunting stories while they examined the animals."
"There's one occasion on which I would gladly join the ladies in the drawing room," I said, smiling. "I think we shall return to Miss Seward now. Thank you for the tour, Mrs. Henley. The house is spectacular, and you clearly run it well. I'm glad to know that it is in such capable hands." The elderly housekeeper beamed the entire way back to the library.
That evening, after a light dinner, we retired to the library to examine the contents of Philip's crates. My heart sank as I entered the room, the long tables now filled with antiquities. Ivy, who appeared to enjoy playing detective very much, procured paper and pen from a desk and began to record details of each of the pieces. Margaret, equally excited, helped her phrase her descriptions accurately. My mood, however, plummeted quickly. Mixed with the feeling of despair at what my husband mi
ght have done was a growing sense of jealousy at Ivy's own happy marriage. I pushed the emotion away, putting myself to work at the task at hand.
There were twenty-seven pieces in all, ranging from small cameos to larger vases and sculptures. The biggest, a marble statue depicting the god Pan, stood nearly as tall as my shoulder. At first glance nothing seemed particularly familiar to me, but then I approached the table farthest from me; on it rested something I would never mistake, the Judgment of Paris vase from the British Museum. I covered my mouth with my hand and sank onto a nearby chair.
1 AUGUST 1887
BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON
Am packed and ready to depart for Greece tomorrow. Saw K this afternoon-she was very quiet. Dare I flatter myself by thinking that this is because she is sorry to see me go?
Have begun research on a comparative study of Achilles and Alexander the Great (added two more boxes of books to my luggage as a result). Two extraordinary lives-albeit one mythological. I wonder what Alexander might have accomplished had he not died in Babylon? Could he have sustained his blazing success over a longer lifetime?
"Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best..."
17
Now that the sun had set, the room seemed to have grown gloomy, although perhaps the chamber itself was less to fault for my perceptions than was my own humor. Ivy and Margaret, facing the other way, had not noticed my distress, and I didn't have any desire to draw their attention to it. I could no longer avoid the thought that Philip had almost certainly done something illegal; confirmation would come as soon as I could have someone analyze the vase. I remembered Mr. Murray telling me how difficult it had been for Philip to give it up to the museum. I hoped that Philip had commissioned an excellent copy for himself but feared that I would learn only too soon that he had kept the authentic one.
I searched my mind for any memory of my husband that could remotely relate to the matter at hand and returned in thought to a day in Amsterdam. It was the second week of our wedding trip; having finished Lady Audley's Secret, I searched to no avail for an English bookstore from which I could purchase another novel. Finally I happened upon a bookstall that had a ragged secondhand copy of Pride and Prejudice, which I promptly bought. Philip, engaged in business of some kind, had not accompanied me. Back at the hotel, I showed him my purchase and settled in for a nice read. The next morning at breakfast, he presented me with a beautifully wrapped parcel containing a first edition of the book.
"It is always preferable to have the genuine article, Lady Ashton," he had said with a smile.
The sound of Ivy's voice brought me back to the present.
"What shall I call this, Emily?" she asked. "Perhaps 'Bronze Statue of Man Forgetting Pants'?" She giggled.
"Really, Ivy! I'm shocked," I said, laughing with her. "He's doing the best he can with his cape. He has a rather fine figure, doesn't he? Curly hair like the great Alexander." I looked more closely and moaned. "I've seen this before; it's in the British Museum."
"Are you certain?" Margaret asked.
"Fairly certain. And that vase," I said, pointing toward the Judgment of Paris. "I know without a doubt that Philip donated the original to the museum."
"I don't know that we have any reason to doubt him, Emily," Ivy said, lowering herself onto a settee. "Of course, the presence of Apollo in your house is troubling, but it does not mean that all of these pieces have been illegally obtained. Maybe he did buy copies."
"Or maybe he stole the originals."
Ivy glared at Margaret as she spoke.
"The more I consider the possibility, the more likely I find it," I said, ringing the bell for Emory. "Nonetheless, I will attempt to withhold complete desperation until we can have someone look at these pieces or their counterparts in the museum. I am afraid, however, that when we look, we shall find the twins of each of them there."
"How will you determine which are the originals? Will you take all this back to London?"
"No, I think they should remain here. I'll have Emory box them up and keep them safely out of sight." I looked at Ivy and raised an eyebrow. "Would you like some port?"
"Absolutely," Margaret replied instead. "The situation clearly calls for port."
"Emily! You wouldn't dare! Not after your unfortunate dinner party!"
"No one is here to report our behavior, Ivy." Emory, who responded to my call, showed no sign of shock at my request. Good training enabled him to give the appearance of a man who thought nothing of a young lady's requesting his master's finest vintage port, although when he returned with it, I thought I detected a slight sheen on his brow, as if he were sweating on this cool evening. I watched as Ivy sipped from her glass and exclaimed with delight.
"Why do they force sherry on us instead of this?" she demanded. "It's dreadfully unfair."
"My sentiments exactly, which is why I intend to remove all sherry from my cellar and replace it with whatever port Berry Bros. & Rudd recommends to me. Cécile drinks nothing but champagne. Perhaps port should be my signature."
"Champagne is far less shocking, and I myself have seen Cécile drink wine, tea, and, for that matter, sherry," Ivy retorted.
"Perhaps we should ceremoniously dump out all the sherry from your cellar," Margaret suggested.
"This is dreadful of you, Emily. Robert will never let me drink the stuff. I'd rather that I never knew how much I liked it."
"We shall have to work on social reform slowly, my dear, one husband at a time," I said, smiling.
"Well, don't start with Robert. He'd think me a disgrace."
"I suppose that is what he considers me?" I asked.
"No, like everyone else, he thinks you are lost without Philip."
"I take offense at that, Ivy," Margaret said. "I do not think Emily is in the least lost without her husband."
"I didn't mean us, Margaret," Ivy replied, trying to sound polite. "But the topic brings to mind a conversation I had with Robert this morning, before we left. He saw Andrew at his club yesterday and tells me that the man could speak of nothing but you."
"I find that hard to believe," I said, sipping my port.
"I'm not particularly fond of the image of him sitting around at some men's club talking about you," Margaret said, pulling a book down from its shelf.
"I think he's quite in love with you, Emily. Robert thinks his intentions are serious."
"What makes him say that?"
"Well, he didn't tell me precisely, but it was the overall impression he gave."
"Andrew Palmer is irreverent, funny, knows more gossip than my mother, and as far as I can tell is serious about absolutely nothing. He is loads of fun, and I adore spending time with him, but I could never love him."
"Yet you kissed him," Ivy said.
"Yes, I did, and I'm glad of it. That doesn't mean I'm going to marry him."
"Well, I shouldn't like to be the one to dash his hopes of happiness," Ivy said, settling in with her port and smiling. "Aren't we supposed to smoke cigars with this?"
"Margaret would say yes, but I can't stand the smell of the things, can you?"
"Not really," she said. "Although it does remind me a bit of Robert."
"Are you very happy with him, Ivy?" I asked.
"Married life agrees with me." Her mischievous grin gave way to a demure smile.
"I can see you transformed to matron before my eyes! It's terrifying."
"Robert is very kind to me, and, unlike you, I have no desire to control money and property or any of that sort of thing. I enjoy having him take care of me."
"You are lucky to have found a husband who can be trusted to do that," Margaret said, looking up from the book she was reading.
"It's nice being on a pedestal," Ivy replied. I wondered if she would grow tired of such a relationship, as surely Robert would over time. "Should I swirl this in the glass? It makes me look rather sophisticated, don't you think?"
"You look stunning, as always, but I haven't the slightest idea if it's the thi
ng to do with port. I shall ask Davis when we return to London."
"I think there are few things more comfortable than a good marriage, and I am thankful to have found that with Robert."
"Comfort is certainly important," Margaret agreed, though I could tell from her voice that it would not induce her to settle into such an arrangement.
"Do you love him, Ivy?" I asked. "I mean, really love him? Desperately, passionately? Does he fill your every thought? When you retire to bed at night, do you long for the moment he reaches for you?"
"Well, not exactly. Really, Emily, I think one has to have realistic expectations. I have read all the sordid novels you have, and I remain unconvinced that anyone ever achieves that sort of thing in real life."
"I'm not sure."
"I know you didn't think like this when Philip was alive, but do you feel that way about him now?"
"No, not really. Of course, he is dead, so it's rather frustrating to feel anything for him." I remembered his face as it looked when he kissed me for the first time on our wedding night. "But I will admit that when I look back on things, I feel rather more excited about them than I did as they transpired."
"I'm not entirely sure what you mean. Should I be shocked?" Ivy asked.
"No, not at all. I think that as we experience things, they happen too quickly to be thoroughly analyzed. I am sitting here contemplating the first time Philip kissed me after we were married and realize now how romantic and enrapturing it was. At the time, however, I didn't feel much other than fatigue. Had I been able to step back and observe us, I might have found the scene thrilling."
"But if you had been passionately in love with him, I think you would have felt the thrill. Surely passionate love doesn't require thorough analysis," Margaret said.
"You're right, of course," I replied. I sipped my port and slouched into the chair, but only for a moment. "We must return to the matter at hand. How am I going to determine the status of these things?"
"Will you ask the British Museum to assist you?" Ivy asked.
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