Interesting that Clive would tell a stranger the truth about who had actually owned the painting. The notation for it in Clive’s ledger had a cryptic code next to it, but Eamon recalled the 1780 date.
“And the duke sold it to you?” Eamon asked.
“Not directly.” Clive sounded smug. “It came into my possession.”
An answer as cryptic as his ledger entry.
Eamon decided to continue feigning ennui with the entire procedure. “I will give you five hundred for it.”
Clive sent him a look of amazement. “Five hundred? That is a paltry sum, even in guineas. My price is five thousand.”
Eamon languidly waved a gloved hand. “You are a madman. Seven hundred at most.”
“My lord, you insult me.”
“Not at all. What is to say that is not a copy?”
Now Clive became outraged. “I have told you. It has provenance, and it belonged to a duke.”
Eamon sniffed. “If you present me with these papers, and my man of business looks them over, I might be able to make you a better offer. If the painting proves to be genuine, that is.”
“I assure you, my lord, I would not have shown it to you if it was not.”
That was probably true. Clive had thought he’d at last met a discerning member of the nobility and was now protesting that this painting, at least, was real.
“Mm.” Eamon paused, as though considering. “Very well. See that the papers are sent to my man. He is Mr. Kennedy, in Lombard Street.” He named Wolfe’s man of business, who sometimes acted for Eamon.
“I will do that,” Clive assured him.
He seemed very confident. Either he truly did have the provenance or was certain that the forged paperwork would stand close scrutiny.
Eamon gave him a condescending nod. “I will take my leave, then.”
“Do the other paintings interest you?” Clive asked quickly. “If you do not want anything so large, I have a lovely miniature by Holbein. Also, some nice Roman bronzes.”
“No, no.” Eamon brushed the offers aside. “The Dutch fellow will do. I look forward to him regarding me from my mantlepiece.”
The elder Rembrandt, who’d seen much hardship in his life, studied Eamon as though he understood his struggles. Eamon gave the painting a friendly nod and a haughtier one to Clive before turning to depart.
Clive hastily bounded to the door ahead of him, opening it to lead him out. Clive steered Eamon resolutely toward the shop, which made Eamon wonder what else was stored back here that Clive didn’t want him to see.
The innocuous passageway ran a long enough way from the shop that Eamon suspected he’d been in the building behind the one on Cheapside. Clive might have rented more rooms in that building that held other treasures.
The youth in the shop bowed with more respect when Eamon emerged into it. The young man’s fingers twitched as Eamon passed him—no doubt hoping for a coin.
Eamon disappointed him. He settled his hat, bade the two a good morning, and swept out. Instead of seeking another hackney, he strode off along Cheapside, his head high. Wolfe was known to eschew carriages to walk, even with his injury.
The brisk wind dispersed clouds and chimney smoke, actually letting in a bit of sunshine. Eamon slowed his walk after passing St. Paul’s, tipping back his hat to enjoy it.
He looked forward to telling Caro what he’d found.
He was interested enough in what sort of papers Clive would produce that he’d not rush away to find a magistrate and report a stolen painting. Also, there was the possibility that Caro’s late husband—or his father—had actually sold Clive the bloody thing to make ends meet, without telling anyone.
If Eamon could pry that painting from Clive’s hands, even if he had to sell everything he owned and touch his friends for funds to do it, he’d return it to the Aylesmore family, and Caro could sell it on. He’d make certain a reputable dealer gave her a good sum, which would help Caro and her family enormously. The thought cheered him very much.
Eamon sought a hackney when he reached the Strand, and rolled into Mayfair, lowering the window to bask in the tolerably good weather.
He rapped cheerily on the front door at Grosvenor Square. Singleton, within seconds, pulled it open.
