“Keep him here.” Gareth pushed past him and strode into a dim sitting room. No art there, not even on the walls. He checked the whole first level, then went above. Stacks of paintings lined the wall of one of the chambers.
He called for Ives.
By the time Ives and Zwilliger arrived, Gareth had set out some of the paintings. Ives took one look and leveled his pistol again. “Are those—?”
“No. Forgeries. All of them. But like the Gainsborough, I think these are copies of what we seek.” He glared at Zwilliger. “Where are the originals?”
“I swear I do not know what you are talking about. I bought those, and the Gainsborough, and several other fine works, from a well-respected man of business. If they are forgeries, I was robbed.”
“How many?”
“Twenty in all were sold to me,” Zwilliger said.
Not enough. Damnation. “These and the Gainsborough come to twelve. Where are the others?” He began flipping through another stack.
“Not here. Five were sold to a picture seller in Greenwich. Two to a gentleman. The last I placed at auction.”
Ives gestured with the pistol. “You are not to sell or move these. I will send men for them in a few hours, and all had better be here. You had better be here too. It will be for the magistrate to decide if you are as innocent as you claim.”
“I swear—”
“You will have time enough to swear. For now, tell us who sold you these pictures.”
“A stationer in Birmingham. I was up there visiting my sister, and chanced upon his shop with all these pictures. Others, too, but not so fine or by such illustrious names. I bought them all, of course. London is a better marketplace for such things.”
“Birmingham. How convenient,” Ives said. “You will not even have to stay at an inn to finish this, Gareth.”
Their missions for the day completed, Ives insisted on buying drinks and a dinner. Gareth ate quickly and spoke little. If Ives noticed, he did not mention it. They parted at nine o’clock, with Ives insisting that they meet early to track down the forgeries-at-large.
Gareth returned to Langley House. His intention of speaking with Eva was thwarted. When he asked after her, he learned the ladies had retired early in order to pack for their journey in the morning.
He consoled himself with some whiskey in the library. It was for the best, he supposed. Most of what he had intended to say to her should not be said. What little was left would be better heard in Langdon’s End.
CHAPTER22
Eva opened the door to her house slowly. She peeked inside, half-expecting to see it ransacked again.
Rebecca pushed the door wide and walked past her. “Let us unpack quickly and go to the village. I want to see if any mail came while we were gone.”
Rebecca went above, but Eva strolled through the house, letting its familiarity seep into her soul. They had not been gone long, but the spaces felt a little strange anyway. It was not the house. Nothing had changed here. She had, however, and not only because of the ball and other experiences. Her heart had changed.
She gazed out the window, to the spot where she and Gareth had sated their desire in the garden. That was supposed to have been the last time.
When she embarked on this affair, she assumed it would be brief. She thought he would make it so, being who he was and who she was. A dalliance for him and a chance to know a woman’s carnality for her. That was all it was to be. Simple. So simple that she astonished herself with her own sophistication.
Now—not simple at all. She never guessed that the risk to her reputation would be the least of it. She never expected to love him, and to feel real pain because he would never love her. What sensible woman would?
She went down to the kitchen to see what provisions she needed to buy. She could hear Gareth saying that romantic love did not exist, that it was something made up to create an excuse for indulging in sensual desire that would itself pass. He did not use those words exactly, but he had given fair warning. She had understood him well enough.
Perhaps for him it already had passed, or was passing. He had not seduced her. There had been no honor be damned. She had had to seduce him in her chamber. And he had been willing to stand aside and allow another man offer to keep her as a mistress. What friend wouldn’t defer to practicalities, should such an opportunity arise?
Rebecca waited upstairs, impatient to walk to town. They set off.
“I wonder if Mr. Fitzallen is back yet,” Rebecca said. “Do you think he is?”
“How would I know? He may have journeyed somewhere else. We may not see him for weeks. What do we care if he is back or not?”
“I was just making conversation, Eva. You do not have to bite me for it.” She pointed to Eva’s arm. “You have your sketchbook. Are you planning to stop along the way to draw? Not on the way there, I hope.”
