Chapter Thirteen
The topic of the miniature was on everyone’s minds that evening.
Lady Augusta at last felt well enough to join them for dinner, although she ate little. Even so, Hecate was most pleased that she had come down, since the company would do her as much good as food at this point in her recovery.
Her eyes were still sad, her face too thin, and the sighs still too near the surface. But overall, she was certainly an improvement over the woman who had arrived the previous week.
“May I see it?” She held out her hand as the tiny brooch was being gently passed around the table.
“Of course.” Hecate nodded as Finn rose and carried it over to her.
“How lovely,” said Lady Augusta. “Yes, I concur with the notion that this is Cosway. His touch is unmistakeable.” Her lips curved into a slight smile. “I met him, you know.”
“Really?” Hecate’s eyebrows rose.
“Indeed. This was before he became…unwell,” replied Augusta. “Maria Cosway, his wife, was an interesting woman in her own right. It was through her that I met Richard.” She toyed with her pudding, her expression calm, but introspective. As if she was looking back into her past. “Such talents, both of them. He with his exquisite art, and Maria with her music and progressive ideas about the education of girls.”
“He is ill?” asked Finn.
Augusta nodded. “His mind, you know. He became much troubled over the past few years. He needed some help, and I understand he was institutionalised for a while.” She sighed. “Such sadness for them.”
“And yet the beauty of his art will remain long after we’re all gone, won’t it?” Phoebe’s practical statement made them all nod.
“Beauty never truly dies, Miss Phoebe,” said Finn, with a smile. “I’m sure you’ve both had your portraits painted many times over.”
“Well, yes,” agreed Hestia. “Although for some reason the artists always wanted us to be goddesses or something.”
“That got our clothes off, didn’t it?” chuckled Phoebe. “It got to the point where we had run out of myths, but the artists always invented new ones.”
Hestia nodded. “We didn’t care much. It paid some bills.”
“And I’m sure your beautiful bodies are ornamenting the walls of several very fine stately homes,” grinned Finn. “With or without clothes.”
“I bloody well hope so. Over the fireplace, if we’re lucky. Those studios were damn cold most of the time so I’d like my arse to be warm for eternity.”
Phoebe’s blunt comment made them all laugh, even Lady Augusta choking out a guffaw.
When the merriment died down, Augusta handed the brooch back to Hecate. “And what shall you do with it now?”
“I intend to see if I can locate the owner,” answered Hecate. “Since we have such clear provenance, we need to find out who this Declan Willows was, and why he was giving such a valuable piece to Mary Willes. It would help if we could learn more about either one, but no matter what comes to light, I want this to go to the rightful owner.”
She looked down as it rested in her hand and let her mind wonder over the question of who might have owned it.
She blinked as her palm warmed a little. And then got hotter.
“Oh my,” she breathed.
“Hecate…” Finn half rose from his seat even as Dal went to stand behind Hecate’s chair.
“No, it’s all right…just a moment…”
Hecate let her thoughts clear and opened that strange portal within her mind. Images fluttered around her hand—faces, faded and blurred, but clearly those of a woman and a man. The woman was older, in a cap, and the man had unusual eyes. Eyes that reminded her of…
“Who…” she whispered. “Who are you?”
As if in answer to her question, he turned and smiled at her from the faint vision above her hand.
And she looked into eyes that were a mirror of her own.
