In Death - 24.50 - Dead of Night

by J. D. Robb

  “There’s a big difference between a family photo and a huge portrait you see every day.” Amy laughed at the comparison. “So you are the son and brother of an earl, you teach, occasionally tend bar, and spend the rest of your time in here. What are you studying?” She picked up a book and looked at the title. “The East India Company?”

  Now she was prying. Using those guileless eyes to find out what he was doing. Why? It meant nothing to anyone but his family.

  “Oh, I know,” she said, acting as though she had this moment realized something. “Are you trying to figure out what the connection is between the earl and the coin?”

  “Why do you care? What possible interest could this be to you?”

  She stepped back as though he had thrown a punch she had to dodge. “I’m sorry. Am I being too personal? It’s just that it hardly seems an accident that I should be here with the coin that is in the painting. Doesn’t it seem odd to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, see, there is something we agree on. And now here’s something else. If you want me to leave, I will.”

  “I want to see the coin,” he said, holding out his hand. “Then you can go.”

  “But of course, Mr. West.” She said his name exactly the way Tandy did when she was annoyed with him, the little edge to her voice that made “mister” an insult. She took the coin out of her pocket, handed it to him, and turned her back to him and her coin.

  Arbuckle came up to them. Simon hadn’t heard him move from the fireplace to his side, had not heard the floor creak the way it always did.

  “I was afraid you’d left,” Amy said, her relief evident. She and the docent studied the painting, ignoring Simon.

  The coin felt warm, and glinted the way it did in the painting. Simon turned it over and over with one hand. It seemed an anticlimactic end to a years-long search. He put the coin in the center of the nearest empty table, wondering if she would sell it to him. He was about to ask, when the docent spoke up.

  “Here is what I wish to know,” the docent said, talking to Amy, but loud enough for him to hear. “The coins were not recovered until 1985. I ask you”—he turned to Simon, his eyes as intense as his voice—“how was it returned to the Regency? I know much of its history in that period, but have been searching for the answer to that question for longer than you can imagine.”

  Amy thought the answer to that question was obvious. She said it anyway. “Isn’t it possible that a few of the coins made their way onto the streets?”

  “No.” This time it was Simon and the docent who answered together.

  “All the coins were sealed and shipped from the mint,” the docent said, unwittingly corroborating the story that Simon had told her an hour ago.

  “Yes.” Simon nodded. “And though graft and corruption are almost as old as man, no one has ever intimated that some were stolen.” He looked at the painting for a long moment and then at the docent. “The more unanswerable question, sir, is how a coin minted in 1808 could be in a portrait painted in 1805?”

  Three

  Wow, he was right. How had the coin come to be in the painting if it was not created until 1808? That was weird.

  Now they all stared at the painting as if Simon’s ancestor would explain. The coin glinted as though trying to communicate its secret. The earl regarded them with an earnestness that made her wonder what he knew that they did not.

  “I know how it was done, Mr. West,” the tour guide said. “If I could take you to the place where it happened, would you be willing to go?”

  Amy nodded as if Simon needed a prompt.

  “Sure,” Simon answered too quickly. “And while we’re at it, can you tell me what the third earl did with the Guardi painting the family used to own?”

  “A what painting?” Amy asked.

  “The artist’s name is Guardi. He painted in the second half of the eighteenth century. The second earl bought it in Venice when he was on his Grand Tour. It was what one did in those days. Bought a painting by Guardi or Canaletto. They sell for millions of pounds now.”

  “And the third earl lost it?” Jeez, that was a true disaster. She thought about it for all of three seconds. “Maybe he sold it,” she said, turning to him. “Even without today’s death taxes I bet the estate was expensive to maintain. It was the same then, wasn’t it? The estate eats up every pound and is still starving to death.”

  “That’s the easy explanation, but there’s no record of it. The only notation is in the house steward’s book. April 10, 1805. Family lore has it that the third earl gave the Guardi to his mistress as a farewell gift.”

  “What, she already had enough jewelry?”

  “No, the earl had recently bought a spectacular racehorse and hired a Spanish trainer, so he was a little low on funds. That we have a record of. The only thing we know is that it was discovered missing on April 10, 1805.” He shook his head and stopped talking. “Sorry. The missing Guardi fascinates me almost as much as the coin.”

  Did he think he had said too much? Exactly what could she do with that information? Or was he still convinced that they were trying to get something from him?

  “Mr. West, if you would like to wish on the coin perhaps you can find out what happened to the work by Guardi.” The docent spoke for the first time in a while.

  “Wish on the coin? Is that before or after you answer my first question?” Simon West sounded as though he was reaching his limit.

  “I can answer your questions about the coin,” the docent said, nodding. “If the answer to your question about the painting is to be known then the coin will respond.”

  Simon made a sound of annoyance.

  “That surprises you?” the docent asked.

  “Surprise is not the word I would use. Coins do not talk.”

  “No, but they can respond. Feel warm, turn brighter. Just the way the one in the painting looks brighter than the rest of the items around it.”

  They all turned back to the portrait and Simon nodded. “I’ve noticed that before. It’s a trick of the light or the way the artist painted it.” He raised his hands as if he wanted to ward off its influence. “This is nonsense. I have to close up the pub.”

  “Please, sir,” the docent urged. “Why not sit on the sofa and try. I promise you will lose no time at all.”

  The docent looked desperate. He might not be playing with a full deck, Amy thought, but this was important to him.

  “Oh, come on,” Amy said. “Loosen up and give it a try. Wish for us to be gone.” She winked at the docent who gave her a faint smile in return. He really didn’t look well. “Simon.” She waited until she had his complete attention. “Please. Who can it hurt?” She moved close enough to whisper. “It will cost you no more than a few moments and it will please a very tired old man.”

  How could anyone resist those earnest eyes? She made him feel like an uncaring fool, instead of the practical realist he was. Right. He would wish. He would wish for them to be gone. With a nod, he sat on the sofa.

  “Very good and thank you, Mr. West.”

  Arbuckle’s words were conventional but his profound relief was evident. Why was this so important to him?

  “If you will pick up the coin it will be my pleasure to aid you in the process. Miss, you may wish as well.”

  “I wished already.” Amy shrugged. “I figured it couldn’t hurt. I can’t say that I believed it would mean anything.”

  “Then you had best wish again. Believing in the magic is what makes it happen. You can wish as many times as you want. The coin decides which wish is the truest.”

  “Oh, I like that.” Simon’s words meant one thing, his tone another. “An inanimate object knows what’s best for me.”

  “Yes, Mr. West, it does.”

  The docent had the critical air of a father disappointed in his son. Simon felt properly chastened and wondered exactly who was in charge here. Or what. He looked at the coin.

  Amy sat on the small settee near the fireplace. Si
mon sat next to her. Arbuckle pulled a chair from the desk and sat across the small table from them. He picked up the coin, seemed to make a wish of his own, and then handed it to Amy. Simon watched her take it. She wrapped her fingers around it and held it tight. “Can I make a different wish than the one I made before?”

  “Yes, my dear. As a matter of fact, I think you should.”

  She closed her eyes and held the coin close to her heart. Simon’s own heart skipped a little. He wished he had half her faith and a solid dose of her trust. With a nod she opened her eyes and then closed them again and added a soft, “Please.” He smiled, wondering if the coin had any maternal instincts.

  Her worried expression was eclipsed by surprise and she opened her palm. The coin glowed gold and she laughed. “Does that mean I made the right wish?”

  Simon wasn’t taken in. A sleight of hand would explain it.

  The docent could not resist her enthusiasm. He took the coin from her. It immediately dulled. He offered it to Simon, who let him place it in his palm. He left his hand open so they could watch it as he made his “wish.”

  “You do know this is pointless, don’t you?”

  “Simon, Simon, take a chance,” Amy said. “What will it hurt to try, to believe, just for one minute, that your dreams can come true?”

  If that dream included her he might be willing to give it a try. He thought about wishing for that but decided it was too venal. He considered wishing for an end to this absurdity and then remembered the Guardi. He had always wanted to know what happened to it. That would be something worth wishing for. As for believing, if Amy Stevens was not part of this silliness then she had enough faith for both of them. He wished he had half of her conviction. Or was it confidence? He cried out, “Ouch!” and dropped the coin on the carpet.

  All three of them watched it glowing white hot, though it did not singe the rug. Arbuckle continued to stare at it even as he spoke. “Impressive wishes, both of them.” As it dulled, he moved to pick up the coin and set it again on the small coffee table nearby.

  “So what’s next?” Simon asked. “How long will it take for my wish to come true?” He looked from the girl to the old man. “You don’t know, do you?” He shook his head at the docent’s regretful nod.

  “Do you know if they will come true?” Amy asked.

  “Oh yes, they certainly will. If you believe in the possibility and are willing to do what wish fulfillment entails.”

  “Is it anything illegal?”

  Amy asked the question as though an illegal element was a deal breaker. If she was not as honest as the sun, then she should do well on stage.

  “Nothing illegal is necessary, miss,” the docent said. “Mr. West, I offered to help you find out how the coin appeared in the painting in 1805.”

  “You said you would take me to the place it happened.”

  “I can send you there, but not take you.”

  “All right, can Amy go, too?” he asked the docent, and watched for her reaction.

  They both spoke at the same time. Amy’s “Oh, please” in chorus with the docent’s “Yes.”

  “It was part of my wish. That I get to go with Simon.”

  “Then it’s not surprising that it is granted. The coin did bring the two of you together.”

  “Was that magic?” Amy wondered aloud.

  “Fate or chance?” Simon added.

  “It is one, both, or all three, Mr. West, Miss Amy. You see, there are certain things that are meant to be. It is the choices made by man that dictate when they will happen.”

  “That sounds like predestination to me,” Amy said with a disapproving frown.

  “Not at all. There are an infinite number of ways that an end can be reached. What is predetermined about that?” He did not wait for a rebuttal. “You, miss, are not the first person to whom I told the story of the coin and the wishes it granted. You are, however, the first to listen with your heart.

  “You, Mr. West, know the story of the coin as well as I do. Your head is so filled with the details that you have yet to make sense of them. From the moment I saw you at that table I knew it was the two of you who were the key to my puzzle. I thought Miss Amy’s role was to bring us together, Mr. West. I am wrong. The coin brought the two of you together to complete the work I have started.”

  Arbuckle so firmly believed in the coin that it was contagious, Simon thought. Amy was nodding, absorbing every word, and God help him, it almost made sense to him, too.

  Simon offered Amy a hand and began to stand up when the docent spoke. “Oh, please stay seated. You will be more comfortable traveling from there. I am sending you to the year 1805, with the coin.” He picked it up from the table and handed it to Amy. “You will give the coin to the earl and then return to the present.”

  Time travel? Had he said time travel? He made it sound as easy as hailing a cab on a sunny day.

  “You mean man can control travel through time?” Amy said sounding, for once, as skeptical as he felt.

  “If you believe it, you can. Time travel is certainly within the coin’s power, though perhaps not man’s.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. This is ridiculous.”

  “Wait a minute and listen, Simon, it might be possible,” Amy said.

  “We just have to believe in the magic coin. Right. Back to the Future is one of my favorite movies.” Simon aimed his exasperation at the docent. “Did you have anything to do with that?” He stood up and walked away from them just in case this insanity was contagious.

  “Listen to me, Simon.” Amy came between the two. “According to Einstein’s general theory of relativity, there is nothing in the laws of physics to prevent time travel.”

  “Is that what you’ve been studying here? Physics?”

  “Good grief, no. I barely made it through required science in college. I’m not sure where I heard that. Maybe I read it.”

  “Did your college courses include Einstein’s general theories?” He could tell she was considering a lie by the vaguely guilty look on her face. Then she shrugged and her expression cleared.

  “Okay, I hate to admit this, but I just remembered where I heard it. To be completely honest, I was quoting a TV character on the show Stargate Atlantis.” She waited.

  He was about to say something scathing when he realized that at least she was being honest. Who but the scrupulously honest would admit that their scientific data came from a TV show?

  “I know it stretches credulity, Mr. West.” The docent’s words fell into the silence.

  “Yes, it does.” Simon crossed his arms. “Answer this: If time travel is within the coin’s power, then why haven’t you taken it back?”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Arbuckle said. “A hundred times at least and in a dozen different places.”

  It was hard not to believe him. He spoke so earnestly.

  “But now I see. The presence of the coin in this room and in the portrait is the key. You take the coin back to your ancestral home, Westmoreland in 1805.”

  “Westmoreland? I’ve heard of Westmoreland,” Amy said. “That’s where it all started?”

  Simon could only shake his head. What an elaborate scheme. To what end? He still had no idea.

  “Mr. Arbuckle,” Amy began gently, “how are you so sure that Simon is the one to take the coin and that 1805 is where its magic begins? What happens after that?”

  “There is no need to worry about that. His only responsibility is to make certain the coin is given to the earl.”

  “If we leave the coin there, then how do we return?”

  Her question was so right on that Simon thought she was as much a dupe of this crazed man as he was. “We can come back because the coin guarantees a round trip once our chore is done,” he said. “I’m making that up, but I bet I’m right, aren’t I?”

  The docent shook his head. “I am not at all sure, Mr. West. Our goal is to be sure the coin is in the time it was meant to be. Man, fate, and fortune will enable the
rest.”

  “That’s leaving way too much to chance,” Amy said. “Your faith in the coin must be very strong.”

  It was leaving so much to chance that Simon decided to call his bluff. “Let’s sit down and do it, shall we, Arbuckle? Do we close our eyes?”

  When the docent nodded, Amy reached over and swiped the coin off the table and pushed it into the pocket of her jeans. She sat down and reached for Simon’s hand. If it was meant as a distraction, it had worked. Her palm was soft, her fingers long and fine. That sweet hand in his aroused more than protective feelings.

  “Very well, Mr. West. Thank you both. You are right. It is best to go in the dead of night when there are fewer people to see your arrival.” He waited a beat and Simon nodded. “I am sorry, Miss,” the docent said to Amy. “You cannot hold hands or sit too close. You will be in the same place and time although not together.”

  Simon moved a few inches to the left.

  “All you must do is close your eyes and visualize where you would like to go.”

  “Westmoreland, the year the portrait was painted. With Amy nearby,” Simon said. Fatigue overcame him before he could question how he had been drugged. He let his head fall back on the sofa. In a second he was sound asleep.

  Four

  “No, my lady, your new companion has not arrived yet.”

  The voice woke Amy from a deep sleep, one filled with dreams, not all of them sweet. Echoes of delight, regret, pleasure, and loss faded, leaving her exhausted and anxious. She forced her eyes open. Surely the real world would be easier to deal with.

  She shut her eyes as quickly. The sofa, Simon, the docent, and the office were gone. Good God, where was she? Where was Simon?

  “I am sorry, Lady Anne.” The same woman spoke again. “I know Mrs. Braintree is sending someone as quickly as possible. It has rained so much the last few days. No doubt, carriages are later than usual.”