“Ah, don’t worry Benedict. I have other prizes on my wish list.” He wagged his brows and I pinched my lips closed.
“I saw at dinner how well acquainted you are with the new Lord Ardmillan.” The man said.
My hackles rose. Had this vagabond been lurking in the shadows when Euan paid me a bedtime visit? Had he listened to my wanton moans as Euan gamahouched me? Was I about to be blackmailed? Blood iced in my veins. I fixed my captor with a steely glare but remained stoic.
“How well did you know the Late Lord Ardmillan?” The man said as he poured two glasses of Port. He picked up a delicate stemmed glass and offered it to me. I looked at the glass as if it were full of poison but I did not take it. He put the glass down on the table in front of me.
“Fine”, he huffed. “I thought that a sip of Port might warm us both and make this chat a little easier.”
“Who are you? John Edwards of Massachusetts, Artur Engels of Germany—“ I accused with a mocking sneer. “What is your name, man? I will not say another word until I know who I am addressing.”
The man stood, smiled, and bowed his head respectfully.
“Sebastian Cavell, at your service.”
Truths &Untruths
I felt warmth rush to my nethers as he purred out that name–Sebastian Cavell. I was not supposed to feel this… this heat for the man who had lied his way into my old friend’s good graces. The lantern light caressed his face giving it sharp; defined, almost feline angles and making his eyes glow devilishly. He was indeed a very well-made man and I was both allured by him and appalled with myself for feeling even a little tingle of attraction towards this rapscallion. I had heard the name Sebastian Cavell before and for a second could not think where I’d heard it. Then it came to me…the front page of The Times Newspaper that Cavell—or John Edwards—had been reading on the train to Scotland. The headline read:
Gentleman Thief Strikes Again!!!
“Nohhh! It cannot be.” Sebastian Cavell was a notorious master thief, and fashionable society was awash with rumor as to his identity. It was believed that he was one among us, and in turn, the elite began to circle on one another and distrust their fellows. The broadsheets had made Cavell into a sort of hero in the eyes of the common folk. He would steal from the rich—especially those who had made their money from slavery and plundering British Colonies. He was believed to be a radical anti-imperialist—one who did not believe in the God-given right of Her Majesty to civilize any foreign territory she desired.
He retook his seat and reached for his glass of Port wine.
“What do you want Cavell?” I sneered.
“To warn you…and I’d be honored to do business with you—”
I was outraged. “I would not do business with the likes of you!” I made to stand up.
“Sit down Benedict. Hear me out.” Cavell said softly. There was intimacy in the way he addressed me. I sat and then unthinking, reached for the glass of Port and took a swallow. Cavell’s eyes lit up as if he had bested me.
“You are long acquainted with the Ardmillan family, are you not?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Stop being obtuse. Answer the question man!”
“Euan and I were friends at university in Edinburgh. But after we graduated we chose diverging paths”, I explained.
“He seems awfully…fond of you at dinner!” Cavell mocked.
I felt my cheeks redden with the hint of innuendo in the impertinent man’s reply.
“In our younger days, we were quite inseparable. But times change… people change.” I said coldly. “This is the first time we have dined together in thirty years.”
“Interesting. I am also…acquainted with him. I’d wager it is in a similar way to you!”
Was Cavell telling me that he too was one of Euan’s many lovers? My stomach knotted at the thought of it. I recalled feeling the constant disappointment and heart-sick pain at being Euan’s dirty secret while at university. I’d longed for a sweetheart to have all to myself. I’d naively believed that he was my beau and I was his one-and-only, but Euan had much wider tastes. His promiscuity became too much and roused the green-eyed-monster in me. I did not like the man I turned me into while loving Euan Ardmillan. I did not like feeling so dependent on his affections for my wellbeing. And I most certainly did not like arriving at the student bar to find him flaunting a new boy he was dallying with, and then after he’d finished toying with him he would slip back into my bed for comfort. The memories of Euan’s manipulations had faded over the years, and remembering sobered me. He was at it again with his desperation to get me to use the Staff with him to revive his flagging manhood!
“It is clear that my reputation goes before me,” Cavell said.
“You are a thief!” I countered.
“I would honestly see myself as more of a Robin Hood, than an outright swindler. Most of what is printed in the news sheets is pure fiction. Stories about me appear to sell papers!”
“I’m sure they do!”
“The items I take were all originally obtained by deceit and murder. The individuals who employ me do so to redress the balance, as it were.”
“So you are a benevolent thief? How very droll.” I said coldly.
“Not one person has ever been harmed by any of my thefts. The victim does not suffer anything but a bruised ego from the loss, not like my clients. And they always have a wonderful story to tell at dinner parties!”
“Why am I here? What is this warning you speak of?” I was growing tired of this charade.
“Do you know the particulars of Lord Ardmillan’s Last Will and Testament?”
“Only what was said in the missive that invited me here.”
“I have seen a copy of the full Will and it makes for interesting reading. Lord Percy stated that his personal collection was to be sold exactly one year after his passing.”
“Aye, that is what my invitation stated”,
“As we know he was a Commanding Officer for the 16th Regiment of Light Dragoon Lancers and his regiment was sent out to India in 1822. He collected many things on his travels, as well as a reputation for brutality.”
I nodded in agreement, I’d heard many stories of his butchery, and not just of the animals he hunted for sport.
“Lord Ardmillan penned a list of collectors of fine art and antiquities that he knew would pay handsomely to own items he had gathered—You were not on that list. In fact, there was a clause in the Will that stated that Mr. Benedict Hannan is to be barred from bidding on anything at all from the Estate.”
“What? That’s preposterous. You must be mistaken!”
“Sadly, I am not. I read the details with my very own eyes. Lord Ardmillan seemed to dislike you greatly. Did you know that?”
“I… I …I,” Words would not form in my mouth such was my horror at hearing what Cavell was telling me.
“He stated that you were the sodomite who led his son and heir astray, therefore you are not worthy of owning any of his treasures.”
My eyes widened. “Whaat? He stated that in his Will?” Since The Principal Probate Registry was established in 1858 a copy of every Will proved in England or Wales was on record. If any of my enemies decided to look into my past, connected me with Euan and saw that clause in Lord Ardmillan’s Will my guilty secret could be made public, and the shame would ruin me. What I could not fathom was why the Late Lord abhorred me so. I had been a thoughtful guest when invited for the shooting season. I had not gotten underfoot of him and his high and mighty friends. I wondered, had we been indiscrete and found out? Euan never said anything about exposure to me. Could this be the true reason why Euan disposed of me some weeks later and never spoke a word to me for years afterward? The whole situation confused me greatly.
“Why would I be invited here if I was not—ahh!” The penny dropped. Euan had a desperate issue that he wanted to fix and he’d decided that as his ex-lover and confidant, I was the man to help him. He had in
vited me privately because his father was no longer around to look down upon his choice of intimates, and also so that I could attend to his ritual. Damn the man! Damn him to hell with his father.
“Did you not notice the look that passed between Lord Ardmillan and Mr. Buchanan at dinner? When introduced to you the solicitor appeared vexed, to say the least. No matter what, it is intended that you will leave this house empty-handed. The solicitor will ensure that you are unable to purchase the Staff of Asklepios or anything else from the collection.”
Little did Cavell know that the Staff was no longer for sale, or so I’d been told? I did not know the truth of this matter but Euan’s over-friendly behavior today had unsettled me. We had initially parted in the most distressing manner and not kept in touch for the longest of times. And then on reacquainting, Euan was back to slipping into my bed as if we were reckless boys again. This was not lordly behavior, and there was a touch of desperation in the way he had seduced me. Euan needed me to be compliant. He needed to be in my good graces as he believed I would be able to help restore his virility. Maybe giving me the Staff as a gift would circumnavigate the clause in the Will, and Euan had been too worried to tell of his father’s hatred of me? Just as I was near convinced that Cavell was a lying scoundrel and Euan was trying his best to please me and adhere to the contents of the Will, Cavell said,
“There is more—”
Oh Gods, no! I took a gulp of Port to steady my nerves.
“Am I correct in my belief that Lord Euan wishes you to sell canvases from his father’s Fine Art collection?”
I had spoken to Euan about this only once, and arrangements had not yet been finalized.
“How do you know of this?”
“That, I cannot divulge. But it is true, yes?”
“There was talk of thinning out the art collection, yes. Where are you going with this, man? It is late and I must be abed.” Part of me wanted to believe that Sebastian Cavell was a fraud and he was pouring poison in my ear so that I would doubt my oldest friend, and in turn, he would make a killing at the auction.
“I know people… friends in…shall we say, low places. I have it on good authority that the Late Lord Ardmillan amassed a mountain of debt when his Military days were over. He could not live up to the myth he had created, and so, in desperate need of funds he employed a forger by the name of Andreas Milieux. Several of the Old Masters from the Ardmillan collection are in fact counterfeit.”
“No!” As an auctioneer, I had dealt with many a counterfeit item in my time. I have a practiced eye and an encyclopedic knowledge of artists, techniques, and mediums. I was keen to take a look at the paintings and judge for myself.
“The originals were shipped to the U.S.A and sold at auction in Los Angeles, California seven years ago.”
“You have no proof!”
“I have seen the shipping dockets.”
“Why should I trust a damnable word you’re saying?“ My mind was reeling, not just from the amount of wine I had quaffed this chilly eve, but from the implications of what Sebastian Cavell was telling me. Had Euan’s nature changed so much that he would willfully try to swindle me?
“I’ll let you into a little secret.” Cavell twisted the tips of his waxed mustache. “As you are aware I am here in the guise of Artur Engles—a buyer for a Berlin auction house. The real Mr. Engles is at a sanatorium in the Swiss Alps recovering from Tuberculosis, but Mr. Buchanan has never met the man, and he wasn’t to know that.”
I had read in the newspaper that physicians were now suggesting a brand new treatment for Tuberculosis which included cold, clear air, high altitude, and healthy meals to assist those who suffered to recover, so this was plausible.
“I took on this guise because I was commissioned to steal the Tipu Sultan’s Tiger Head ornament.” I was about to share my outrage at this revelation but Cavell held his hand up to silence me.
“However, that plan has been abandoned.”
“Why? Has the famous Sebastian Cavell found his conscience?” I mocked.
Cavell let out a withering laugh.
“No, dear heart. Because on perusal of the item that was displayed this evening, I noticed several things that were, shall we say, off… chiefly, the verity that the gems embedded in the gold Tigers head are in fact paste. The smaller, less expensive jewels are genuine; however, the rubies and sapphires are most certainly imitations.”
I was confused and horrified. Several gem experts were on my payroll at my auction house. Their job was to ensure precious stones listed for sale by Hannan’s were genuine. Forgers are indeed highly skilled individuals and Hannan’s had been fooled several times. I don’t know of an auctioneer who hasn’t accidentally sold a counterfeit item.
“Now, the entire ornament could be counterfeit and the genuine stones added to give a touch of authenticity. Or the genuine Tiger's head was brutalized to remove and replace genuine stones with glass imitations.”
I was aghast at the thought of Lord Ardmillan having someone deface such a historic artifact, and as if Cavell could read my thoughts he said,
“I believe that whatever happened to the Tigers' head was carried out in the time of Lord Percival Ardmillan. I do not believe Euan knows that the Tipu Sultan’s Tiger Head he is attempting to sell is an imitation.” I was relieved to hear this.
“However, when it comes to the art collection, I truly believe that Euan Ardmillan knows of his father’s deceit and played a part in it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“He is on the passenger list of the very same ship that carried the genuine paintings. Euan was the member of the Ardmillan family who took the old masters to auction. The art rouse has been going on for years. They have systematically replaced their most prized items with fakes and the only conclusion here is that the new Lord Ardmillan is continuing the family business and wishes to play you for a fool, Benedict.”
“Do you think him so callous a man? If so, you do not know the real Euan Ardmillan!” I protested in defence of my friend and lover.
“Lord Percival Ardmillan was property rich, yet cash poor when he passed. Euan’s inheritance comprises of unworkable mountainous land, an old estate house that is about to fall down from disrepair, and a boarded-up London townhouse that he cannot afford to run. The inheritance is a millstone around Euan’s neck and… desperate men do despicable things!”
I recalled how despondent and ungrateful Euan sounded when speaking of his inheritance. I did not understand how bad his situation was until now. It must be an unbearable worry. It was no wonder the man could not keep his stand!
“So, you are telling me that my oldest friend is manipulating me to commit fraud from which only he will profit!”
“Correct. I believe Lord Ardmillan will abscond with the profits to prevent his debtors from getting their hands on the money. I’d wager he will go to the continent and start a new life.”
“You assume a great deal, Mr. Cavell. I have not seen one shred of evidence for any of these tall tales you have told this night.”
“Then we will find out tomorrow. If you place a bid on anything at the auction, I assure you, Mr. Buchanan will overlook you. I mean you no harm Benedict; in fact, I wish to prevent harm from befalling you. If such a thing comes to pass tomorrow, if your bids are rejected, will you believe me then?”
I considered this for a moment. I could not believe that I would be ignored when bidding. I was a prestigious auctioneer, well-connected and good for the money. There was no reason to my mind why I would be refused.
“Very well.” I conceded. “But what’s in this for you?”
Sebastian Cavell leaned on the table, closer to the lantern light, closer to me. He did have remarkable hazel eyes. “The satisfaction of knowing I have outfoxed a scoundrel.” Sebastian grinned wolfishly. “And knowing you will not be disgraced.”
I was surprised by this statement. I did not know Sebastian Cavell and yet, if what he said was true he was showing me more care
and consideration than many of my oldest acquaintances.
“I must admit I have watched you from afar for a very long time Benedict, and find you most fascinating.”
I shivered. I was sure I had not met this man before he took on the guise of John Edwards of Massachusetts.
“You appear younger than your years, with your lustrous black curls, and pale complexion.” Cavell reached out his hand to touch my hair and then seemed to think the better of it. He pulled his hand away.
“You are a most agreeable companion for conversation.” He continued. I was sure I was blushing; such was the heat rising to my cheeks.
“You are a humble, compassionate man and private of habits.” He said. “And I admire your discretion in all business. I would like us to be allies, Benedict, maybe even friends. I could be a very useful person to know!”
The intimacy of the spell Sebastian Cavell wove had pulled me in, closer to the lantern light and those dazzling eyes. His smooth cultured voice near hypnotized me and I felt my guard slipping. The wind buffeted the attic windows and they rattled violently as if the spirit of Lord Ardmillan were trying to regain access to his house. The sound released me from Cavell’s spell. I sat erect and told him straight.
“I do not know you and you do not know me. We are not, and never will be friends, or, I hasten to add, business partners,” I said cuttingly.
“Ah, Benedict”, Cavell sighed as he sat back in his chair.
“You will change your mind tomorrow!” He said softly. With that Sebastian Cavell stood, bowed respectfully, and on light feet, walked out of the room. It appeared the door was not locked after all.
I sat for several moments staring at the lantern light dancing in the frigid breeze. What if Cavell was right? What if I had been lured here to become a scapegoat for Euan’s scheme to rid himself of debt. I needed to think about this, but for now, I wanted to be back in my bed. I stood, picked up that lantern that Cavell had thoughtfully left for me, and returned to my chamber.
The Shooting Season Page 6
