“That would mean spending a lot of time at Albany Lodge.”
“It is a big house. You will not disturb me. If you are concerned that there would be talk, you can bring your sister or a friend.”
She had not thought about there being talk. She had hoped to see a few wicked lights in his eyes to indicate he calculated having her in his house, vulnerable to his powers.
At the house, he handed her out. “The pictures are in the library. I will join you in a minute.” He walked toward the coachman.
She entered the house and turned into the library. And froze.
Facing her, propped on chairs and mantel and against the wall, were the pictures Gareth had brought back from London.
Her pictures.
She strode from one to the other, hoping she was wrong, knowing she was not. She stood in their midst, unable to think. He knew. He must know. This could not be some coincidence. Unless he came upon the man who had bought them all from Mr. Stevenson—
“They are very fine, don’t you think?”
She pivoted. Gareth stood at the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the jamb, watching her. Intently. Darkly.
She had never feared him before, but for a moment now she did.
“Most of them came from a Mr. Zwilliger in London. He said they were by masters like Gainsborough and Cuyp.” He pointed at the three boys at the fountain, and the still life she had lastseen at Christie’s. “Or Carracci over here. He gave a good name to each of them. Quite an opportunity, it was.”
“Did you pay the prices such artists would command?”
“That would have been stupid. After all, they are all forgeries.” He walked toward her. “Aren’t they, Eva?”
She wanted to die. Yes, he knew. He had guessed the truth, and suspected worse.
“They were not intended to be forgeries. I never expected anyone to be fooled. I am not that good.”
“You are very good. Most people would be fooled.”
“They were exercises, and a way to earn a few shillings. I would paint a copy and give it to a man in Birmingham, and he would try to sell it and give me half the money if he did. I never said they were by any masters. I do not think he did either. I said they were mine, and he sold them as in a master’s style, but not by his hand. I see how it looks, however. If you think I was in league with this Mr. Zwilliger, I am not sure I can prove I was not.”
He shed his topcoat, threw it on a chair, and sat on the divan. “Sit here with me, Eva. I want to make sure we hear each other clearly, and there are no misunderstandings.”
She obeyed, sick to the depths of her being.
“Eva, are you saying you had no idea that your copies were being sold as originals? None at all? Did you never think they might be?”
“They were not good enough. I always saw them with the originals, and what they lacked was obvious.” She hesitated, but forged on. “I did see that one in the auction house, given to Cuyp. I told them I had painted it, but the man ignored me like I was some addled fool. And, yes, I will admit that when that happened, it did occur to me that perhaps, after they were sold, there had been a misunderstanding about them.”
“That is the wrong word. This was deliberate. In the chain between your handing off the pictures, and my finding them, someone chose to present them as originals knowing full well they were not.”
She stared at her lap, too embarrassed to look at him. She did not want to see his thoughts in his eyes. The best excuse she had was stupidity and ignorance. So much for her fine character. Nor would this get better. More questions would come that would show her in even a worse light.
She wondered if Sarah would take Rebecca in if she were arrested. Probably so. Forgery was a serious crime. They might transport her. She wondered if forging paintings carried the same sentence as forging documents and such. Men had been hanged for that. The thought sent a shudder down her back.
“Eva, how these came to be sold in London as originals can wait to be sorted out. Right now I need you to tell me where the originals are.”
She looked at him, surprised. “You do not know? I thought you did. Why else would you have bought these exact works?”
“Because I have been looking for the originals, and these copies might be a way to find them.”
She wanted to laugh. His dark expression, totally without humor, stopped her.
“How did you come to copy these particular works, Eva?”
