Chapter 20 #2
“I was just at the British Museum yesterday,” I began. “And this collection is still very impressive.”
Mr. Dorian hummed in agreement. “The man may not have the space for Egyptian monuments, but the variety is incredible.”
“It must have taken him years to put this all together.”
“Try decades,” came a deep voice.
I whirled around to find an older man with salt-and-pepper hair, a large black mustache, and spine-straight bearing I guessed came from many years of military service standing just behind us.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said with a faint smile. “But I always make a point to greet new guests.”
Mr. Dorian stuck out his hand. “Stephen Dorian. Thank you very much for admitting us, Sir Armstrong-Hughes.”
The man shook his hand, but kept his gaze on me. “And who is your companion?”
“Mrs. Collins,” I said in a low voice, before Mr. Dorian could answer.
He took my hand and pressed it to his lips. “Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Collins. I’ve always had a weakness for a woman in a veil. Reminds me of the years I spent in the desert. People always underestimate the romance of the place.”
I let out a nervous chuckle, and the man’s smile deepened.
Mr. Dorian cleared his throat. “When does the auction begin?”
Sir Armstrong-Hughes tore his gaze away from me. “In half an hour or so. I like to give people a bit of time to mill around and spread rumors about what will be for sale. I find it makes the bidding more robust,” he added with a glint in his eyes.
“Right,” Mr. Dorian said in a clipped tone. “Well, I suppose we should continue on. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
“It’s no trouble,” Sir Armstrong-Hughes replied, though he kept his gaze on me.
I was thankful for the veil, as it made it far easier to deal with the man’s forwardness. I gave him a little nod before Mr. Dorian tugged me away.
“You didn’t need to be so brusque,” I said once we were out of earshot. “What if he decided to make us leave?”
“He was staring at you like you were another item to add to his collection,” Mr. Dorian said with surprising force.
“I don’t know why,” I demurred. “He could barely make out my features.”
“As if it would matter,” he grumbled as we entered the ballroom.
I narrowed my eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He glanced back, and his expression softened. “I only meant that one doesn’t need to see your face to notice your charms.”
“Oh,” I said dumbly. That wasn’t at all what I expected him to say. But Mr. Dorian’s attention was already engaged across the ballroom, and then he muttered a curse.
“Dorian!” A portly man with dark hair called out as he approached us. “I thought that was you.”
“Hello, Buckley,” Mr. Dorian said before gesturing to me. “This is Mrs. Collins.”
Mr. Buckley did a poor job of hiding his curiosity as he leaned towards me. “Collins, is it?”
I nodded in response as Mr. Dorian pulled me closer to him. “I didn’t know you were a collector,” he remarked, drawing the man’s attention away from me.
“Yes,” Mr. Buckley said. “I’ve been coming to this auction for years. Though I don’t often buy things, of course. The wife will have my head if I come home with any more Roman coins.” He punctuated this with a braying laugh, and Mr. Dorian forced a smile.
“Right. Well, this is my first time. Charles Pearson told me about it, actually,” he added after a beat.
Smart man, I thought.
Mr. Buckley immediately looked stricken. “Ah yes. Poor fellow. I didn’t realize you knew him. Terrible shame. I heard they still haven’t found the culprit.”
I must have tensed, because Mr. Dorian pressed his palm against my arm in a soothing gesture. “No,” he said. “I heard the same. He came here quite often, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Mr. Buckley replied. “He had an excellent eye, Charles did. I would imagine his collection will fetch a pretty price. Do you know what the family intends to do with it all?” he asked, failing to hide his obvious interest.
“I’ve no idea,” Mr. Dorian replied.
The man’s face fell. “A pity. It would be a shame if it was all boxed away somewhere. I should write to his sister. Offer to take it off her hands. For a fair price, of course,” he said with another hoarse laugh.
“Did you happen to hear about Charles selling anything recently?” Mr. Dorian said.
Mr. Buckley frowned as he considered this. “No, not at all. He was very selective when it came to selling things from his own collection. More often, he found things for other people. Charles was very good at that. He knew everyone and could charm anyone.”
“But when he did sell things,” Mr. Dorian pressed, “who might have bought from him?”
“Why, I’ve no idea,” Mr. Buckley said, clearly puzzled by the question. “I’d wager it was another collector like myself. Though they would need far deeper pockets than me.”
“What about any Grecian artifacts?” I said suddenly.
Both men turned to me, curious. Mr. Buckley shook his head.
“I haven’t come across anything truly remarkable out of Greece in some time.
Not since the government began monitoring the discoveries at archeological sites more closely, anyway.
A damned shame, too. If it were up to them, we wouldn’t even have the Elgin Marbles.
” Then he glanced around before leaning in.
“There was a rumor that someone at the British embassy was deliberately mislabeling artifacts and exporting them here, but they were discovered around the same time the pieces stopped coming in.”
A chill ran down my spine. It was nearly the same accusation Mr. Dorian had made about Oliver. I could feel his heavy gaze upon me, but I couldn’t look at him.
“Did Sir Armstrong-Hughes ever auction off any of these pieces?”
Mr. Buckley gave me a coy smile. “He wouldn’t knowingly sell anything that didn’t have the proper provenance, madame.”
I scoffed. “Isn’t that the whole point of a private auction?”
But the man only laughed. “One thing I will say about Sir Armstrong-Hughes is that he has a mind like a steel trap. And the records to match. If you get on his good side, he might be willing to share them with you. For a price, of course.”
I was just about to ask how much money he thought it would cost, when Mr. Dorian gripped my arm. “Thank you, Buckley.” Then he tugged me away.
“In case you forgot,” he hissed as soon as we were out of earshot, “we are here to ask about Charles Pearson.”
I pulled my arm out of his grip and shot him a glare. “I am aware. I only thought—”
“I know what you’re doing, Minnie,” he said, his tone gentler now. “But this isn’t the time. Nor the place.”
“But if I could just look at those records—”
“What?” he demanded with sudden exasperation. “You’ll find Oliver’s name written in one of the entries? It doesn’t work like that.”
“How would you know?” I said mulishly. “And maybe it won’t be Oliver’s name, but it will be someone’s name, which is more than I know right now.”
He let out a huff, as if this conversation was extremely inconvenient. “We can find out more information at another time.”
I bristled at this poor attempt to placate me.
“But we’re here now. And this might be our only chance,” I pointed out.
“Who else will have records like that?” He stared at me in silence as a muscle in his jaw ticked.
I clenched my hands into tight fists and scanned the room.
The auction would start soon, and I worried our absence would be noticed.
There wasn’t time to wait. I looked back at Mr. Dorian and lifted my chin.
“Either help me, or stay out of my way. The decision is entirely yours.”
Then I turned on my heel and stalked out of the room. I had a study to find.