Chapter 20 #2
“Lady Emmeline Livingston, nee Frampton, the Marchioness of Worthington,” Michael introduced, “has graciously agreed to lend us her expertise.”
George recovered as quickly as he could, inclining his head in respect. “My lady. George Haversham at your service.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Haversham,” Emmeline greeted the manager. “My friend, Lady Louisa Beauchamp.”
“My lady.” George bowed again.
“Might you show us the list, George?” Michael asked, trying to hide his amusement at George’s reaction to the beautiful ladies before him.
“Of course, my lord.” George fumbled with a folded-up piece of paper in his jacket pocket. “These are the missing pieces, my lord.” He handed the paper to Michael.
Michael unfolded the page and read the list, whistling low under his breath. “Whoever is responsible, they know what they are taking and what it is worth.” He extended the page to Emmeline.
Emmeline took it and read the list of valuable pieces. “This list consists almost entirely of the paintings that my father procured for your grandfather.”
“Indeed,” Michael agreed.
“Coincidence?” Louisa asked.
Emmeline shook her head. “Not likely.”
“My grandfather was extraordinarily particular about the pieces that he collected. Not every piece’s value was obvious to the uneducated eye. One would need to possess sufficient knowledge to know that these pieces were indeed the most valuable of the collection,” Michael explained.
“I see,” Louisa mused, pursing her lips in thought. “Who would possess such knowledge?”
“Other art collectors, academics, antiquarians, some artists…” Michael rattled off a list of professionals who might be able to tell within English society. “But there are not very many people who are even aware that these pieces are within my possession.
Mr. Frampton used the greatest of discretion when he purchased the pieces for Ravenshollow. The only people who would have known were my family, the Frampton family, the servants of Ravenshollow, and the rare guest, perhaps.”
“Along with the art dealers and artists that my father obtained the paintings from,” Emmeline reminded him.
“Of course, but they did not know of the paintings’ destination. The true buyer was always kept a secret.”
“Curious,” Louisa murmured as she read over the list with Emmeline.
“Indeed,” Emmeline agreed. “All of the paintings appear to depict historical themes.” She moved to study the places upon the library wall where the paintings had once hung. “Do you see this mark here?” she asked, pointing to a scratch on the wall just to the right of where the painting had been.
Michael moved up behind her to view what she was pointing at. The smell of lavender from her hair enveloped him, sending his pulse racing.
“What of it?” he managed to croak out as he swallowed back the overwhelming desire to take her into his arms and bury his face in her curls.
“It is as if someone removed the painting from the wrong side,” Emmeline murmured, as much to herself as to him.
“How can one remove a painting from the wrong side?” Louisa asked, puzzled.
“Most people grasp a painting more firmly with their dominant hand, which can sometimes lead to the frame scratching the wall if removed in an uneven fashion.
This usually results in the scratch being on the left side of the painting, as most people are right-hand dominant. This scratch is on the right side of the painting, indicating that the person who removed this painting was left-hand dominant,” Emmeline explained.
Louisa’s eyes widened in surprise. “Emmeline Frampton, you never cease to amaze me with your intelligence.”
“Here, here,” Michael murmured in agreement.
He was standing so close to her that he could feel his own breath bouncing off her skin and back toward his face as he lowered himself down to inspect the scratch on the wall more closely.
They both reached out to run their fingers over the scratch at the same time, resulting in an unintended caress.
Frozen, uncertain what to do, he just stood there as a flood of memories washed over him. Pulling his hand away, Michael’s eyes traced the delicate curve of her neck, watching as the pulse beneath it quickened.
Seeing her standing there concentrating on the wall before them reminded him of the many hours that he had spent sketching her over the years. He still had those sketches hidden away in the bottom drawer of his desk.
“Michael,” she turned her head to ask him a question, and their faces came so close together that had he leaned forward the tiniest bit, their lips would have touched.
Their eyes met, and all thought of the question she was about to ask appeared to have fled with it as they stood there staring at one another in weighted silence.
Her breathing grew shallow as her pupils dilated, almost swallowing the whisky amber warmth of her eyes.
In that moment, all the years of hurt and anger faded to a dim memory.
In that moment, they stood before each other not as the adults who had been estranged, but as the childhood sweethearts that they had once been.
The sound of shuffling feet and clearing throats brought Michael back to the present.
Michael turned his head to find Louisa smiling knowingly, while his estate manager looked at him in confusion.
Michael took a step back, placing a socially acceptable amount of distance between himself and Emmeline.
Emmeline blushed, turning her face back toward the wall. As if suddenly remembering her question, she found her voice. “Did the seamstress that you spoke with happen to say what hand the elusive Mr. G most used?”
Michael shook his head. “She did not.”
Emmeline nodded. “I thought as much, but it would have helped to narrow the field of investigation.”
“Once we have finished here, I can write to Colin and see what he can discover,” Michael offered.
Emmeline nodded. “Perhaps Mr. Hardy will have taken note of someone within the Green Dragon Tavern that fits the description.”
“Perhaps, but it only narrows the field a slight amount if at all. Such evidence would not convince a magistrate to convict someone,” Michael reminded her, advising her not to set her hopes on one piece of possible information.
“I know, but at this point, I will take whatever evidence that I can to find my sister.”
Michael nodded in understanding. “Let us keep looking for clues.”
Emmeline gave him a grateful look, and they spent the better part of the afternoon searching every part of the library and the surrounding area for a clue as to who had broken in and taken the paintings.
“Do you think that the thief wishes to sell or keep the paintings?” Louisa asked, as they paused in their search to wipe the sweat from their brows.
“It is uncertain,” Michael answered. “I have placed a reward for any information on the missing paintings and have reached out to all of the antiquarians, auction houses, and collectors in the area to alert me if they should come across any of these paintings.”
Louisa nodded in understanding. “Let us pray that they are foolish enough to attempt to sell the paintings here in England and not abroad.”
Emmeline and Michael exchanged a concerned glance. “Let us hope,” they said in unison.
At that moment, Michael’s mother entered the library and took in their frustrated expressions.
“Perhaps a walk among the roses is in order,” she offered as she bustled across the room to her son’s side. “It is a beautiful day, and you have all gone over this room more times than is productive. I request that you all join me for a stroll to take in the air.”
Michael gave Emmeline a questioning look, and she nodded in acceptance. “Perhaps it will give us a fresh perspective on the matter.”
“Do we know how the thieves gained entry?” Michael asked his estate manager.
The man shook his head. “It is unclear, my lord. Nothing was broken.”
“Then we shall search the grounds and see what we might discover out there.” Michael knew the chances were small, but he was not ready to give up on this one tenuous clue that might lead to finding Rebecca.
“I will inform the staff, my lord. I know that many of them would be happy to join the hunt,” the estate manager informed him, then bowing, left the room.
“Do you think that it is possible that the thief could have been allowed entry by one of the staff?” Emmeline asked, her eyes showing her hesitancy to make such an inquiry.
Michael shook his head. “Most of the staff have been here their entire lives, but I will make inquiries. It is possible that someone was hired in my absence that I am unaware of.”
“Thank you for understanding and not rejecting my question outright,” Emmeline murmured for his ears alone as they moved to leave the library.
“I would never reject you,” Michael replied, then moved away before he could see her response to his declaration.