“Not really. I know I have a middling talent. I enjoy painting, however. I intend to work at it and get better too.”
He went over and took the canvas from her hands and looked at it. The remnants of the landscape could still be discerned. “Middling talents paint like everyone paints, Eva. This had a distinctive look, what with the way you used light on the ground and trees. You do not give yourself enough credit.”
“Forgive me, but—do you know what you are talking about?”
“Actually, yes. I do. Art is the one thing I know very well.”
She beamed at his compliment, then laughed. “Not the one andonlything, I think it is safe to say.”
Her bawdy allusion heartened him. She seemed to be recovering from the renewed shock of seeing her house like this.
She set the painting aside and reached for her reticule. “I would like you to do something for me, if you would be kind enough.”
“Anything at all.”
She plucked some pound notes out of the reticule and thrust them at him. Sparks of determination flashed in her eyes. “Please buy me a pistol, and teach me to use it.”
CHAPTER 14
After buying Eva her pistol, Gareth made a little tour of Langdon’s End. He stopped at the White Horse. Erasmus was there, as expected, and greeted him with a toothy smile. Gareth gestured him over to a table, ordered two ales, and informed him of the situation with Eva.
Erasmus displayed the same shock Harold had. It appeared genuine, which meant Harold had been good to his word, even when it came to his friend. Better, actually. Not only had Harold not revealed Eva’s presence in his home this morning, he had not even spoken of what sent her there.
“It musta happened yesterday,” Erasmus said. “I walked by every morning she was gone and saw nothing out of sorts on the property. Didn’t go this morning because Harold said she was back when I passed him in town.”
“As you can imagine, she is very afraid.” Gareth patted the wrapped bundle he had set on the table. “She asked me to buy her a pistol. If it makes her feel safer, that alone is a good reason to do so.”
“Has she ever used one?” Erasmus looked incredulous.
“She will know how soon enough. I want you to keep your ears open. Let me know if you come across any indications of who did this. Such types often take to boasting, especially when in their cups.”
Erasmus nodded. “I will tell Sir Thomas too.”
“Tell me first. The magistrate can have what is left of the scoundrel after I am done with him.”
He set a coin for the ale on the table and left the tavern. Considering how Erasmus liked to talk, within hours it would be well known that Miss Russell now kept a pistol in her house, one that she knew how to use. He also assumed that word would spread that Mr. Fitzallen protected the lady and would not wait for a court to mete out justice.
Both bits of information might help if that housebreaking had been the work of men grabbing the opportunity to steal. Another possibility had entered Gareth’s mind when he saw the deliberate destruction of Eva’s paintings, however. Before he left the town he made one more stop.
Mr. Trevor stood to greet him when he entered the architect’s office. A bit of brandy was offered, and they settled into chairs near the window.
“The materials for the roof should be here this week,” Trevor said. “Once work starts, it will not take long.”
Gareth allowed a few more minutes of conversation about Albany Lodge’s improvements before moving to his real reason for visiting.
“Miss Russell’s house was entered while she was gone. You will hear of it soon if you have not already.”
“Why that house? She has nothing of value.”
“No one seeing that house would assume it contained nothing of value. It is a handsome gentry home. This is no longer an isolated village but a growing town, and all sorts pass through, I expect.”
“This is dreadful. Bold. This is not a place where people bolt their doors, or grow suspicious of every face. At least it has not been such a place in the past. I fear this will change that.”
“No doubt it will, if the details become known. After finding nothing, the intruders took out their anger by methodically destroying what little was there. Floorboards, walls, furniture, crockery—room by room, her possessions were turned into debris.”
“Thank God she was not there, nor her sister. It isn’t safe, two women alone, living in the shadow of a city like Birmingham— She must be terrified.”
“Not so much terrified as furious. Although, having seen the destruction, I cannot avoid the thought that terrifying her might have been the goal. A few details seemed unnecessarily cruel, and personal.”
