Kitabı oku: «Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1», sayfa 11

Chapter Thirteen

Mr Harland’s studio. Tallie felt the blood drain out of her face and wondered wildly if she was going to faint. Then she saw Nick watching her speculatively and she rallied herself. ‘Mr Harland, ma’am?’

‘Yes, I have decided to have my portrait taken after all and I need to call to arrange terms and so forth. Do you mind accompanying me?’

‘Oh,’ Tallie managed feebly. ‘No, no, of course not.’

‘I am sorry, Aunt Kate,’ Nick said, gathering up his hat and gloves from the hall chest. ‘I had only dropped in for a minute. I have a business appointment now, otherwise I would be delighted to accompany you.’

Tallie’s anger that he had considered ‘only a minute’ sufficient to discuss yesterday’s encounter allowed her to put on her outdoor clothing and join Lady Parry in the carriage without refining too much upon where they were going. But once the carriage started her thoughts began to spin.

She had written to Mr Harland, apologising for having to cease her sittings and had received back such a carefully worded reply that she was reassured about his continuing discretion. Absence, and Kate’s revelation that she knew all about her sittings, had lulled her still further.

Now she realised how dangerously she had let her guard down, even if Lady Parry knew her secret. What if Nick had been able to oblige his aunt and accompany them and saw something that linked Tallie and the naked Diana in his mind? Even a slight suspicion would be enough to spell disgrace.

The journey to Panton Square passed quickly, too quickly for Tallie, who was desperately trying to regain her composure. She held furs and muff for Lady Parry as she was handed down by the coachman, then descended herself. As she did so some instinct made her glance back to where the tiny square opened out into Coventry Street. A hackney had drawn up and a man was paying his fare—a thin man in an overlarge greatcoat. She shook her head, convinced she was imagining things. When she looked back both man and cab had gone.

The sound of the door opening behind her recalled her to the immediate problem and Tallie followed Lady Parry into the hallway of Mr Harland’s house. Peter the colourman was standing holding the door, his best green baize apron in place, his scanty grey hair carefully brushed. On ‘portrait days’ he was always well turned out to greet clients. On the days when Tallie had posed for the classical works he had hurried back to his workshop, oil-stained apron flapping, knife or pestle in hand.

He helped Lady Parry with her things, then saw Tallie behind her. ‘Miss Grey! This is a pleasure, miss. You’ll be glad to know I’ve managed to get a nice consignment of mummy in at long last.’

‘Good morning, Peter. I am pleased to hear that—supplies were getting very difficult, were they not?’ Peter had sometimes allowed her to look round his workshop and had explained the contents of the jars and twists of paper that filled each shelf and spilled from every drawer.

‘Mummy?’ Lady Parry, always ready to be interested in something new, paused with one hand on the baluster.

‘Yes, my lady. I’ll show you.’ The colourman vanished into his sanctum and emerged with a box, which he opened carefully. Inside were a number of fragile sheets of a flaking substance the colour of dried tobacco and a gnarled object which looked exactly like part of a human finger.

‘Whatever is it?’ Lady Parry asked, extending an elegantly gloved forefinger to prod it.

‘I rather think it is a … a human finger.’ Tallie swallowed. It had been fascinating to hear how artists ground up the remains dug from the hot Egyptian sands to use as a brown pigment. It was considerably less appealing to see it in the … flesh. She swallowed again. That had been an unfortunate thought.

‘Oh, my goodness! The poor creature! What do you want it for?’ Lady Parry withdrew her own finger sharply.

‘It was only a part of a heathen, my lady, and been dead since the Flood, I daresay.’ Peter shut his precious box carefully. ‘It makes a wonderful deep brown pigment; nothing quite matches it. But the cost, ma’am, that is terrible. Lucky those rogues who broke in last night didn’t think to come down here—why, I’ve got lapis and gold leaf—’

‘You had burglars? What happened?’ Tallie asked, concerned. ‘I do hope no one was hurt.’

‘Nothing like that, I am glad to say.’ It was Mr Harland, alerted by the voices, coming down to greet his new client. ‘Good day, Lady Parry, this is an honour. Miss Grey, how very nice to see you again.’ Tallie smiled despite herself. Frederick Harland might be vague, inconsiderate and distracted when painting, and he might profess to despise his portrait work, but he did know how to charm his lady clients with every attention.

He was ushering them up to his public studio and reception room, a world away from the dusty draughty attic where his great canvases would be set up and where Tallie was used to shivering in flimsy draperies.

‘Was anything taken?’ she asked as he drew up chairs for them next to a series of empty display easels.

‘No—a very strange thing, that.’ The artist frowned. ‘They rummaged through the canvases—fortunately damaged nothing—and that was all.’

‘Possibly they were disturbed,’ Lady Parry suggested. ‘Or they thought you might hide your valuables amongst them.’

‘You are most likely correct, ma’am. Now, as I understand you have decided upon a portrait and are most graciously entrusting me with the task. I think the first thing we must decide is the size and style of the work. I will show you some examples …’

He proceeded to prop canvases on the easels. First a head and shoulders of a formidable lady with grey hair. ‘Lady Agatha Mornington. I am about to begin varnishing this one.’ Tallie started nervously; this was Jack Hemsley’s aunt. Next, a three-quarters length of a young lady holding a child. Then a full-length canvas of a graceful figure in a clinging gown, one hand lightly resting on a classical pillar. It was a preparatory sketch only, but well detailed, and the face that smiled serenely back at the viewer was Tallie’s.

‘Ah, there is that delightful portrait I saw last time I was here,’ Lady Parry said with pleasure.

‘Yes, my lady. As you had already seen it, I thought there was no harm in producing it again, and I expect Miss Grey will be amused to see it once more. I will just fetch my notebook,’ Mr Harland said and left the room.

‘That … that is the picture of me you saw?’ Tallie asked, hideous apprehension beginning to ball in her stomach. ‘The one I sat for because Lady Smythe was expecting?’

‘Yes, of course, dear. Were there any others? I do think it is nice that Mr Harland bothered to draw your face, even though in the finished work it is Lady Smythe, of course.’

‘And that is the … costume you thought shocking?’ The ball of apprehension was turning into lead shot in the pit of her stomach.

‘It looks as though the petticoats have been dampened,’ Kate said severely. ‘One can see every line of your figure. And what is holding the bodice up—if one can call it a bodice—goodness only knows. Still, everyone knows Penelope Smythe thinks of herself as a dasher, and it must have hit her hard to have lost her figure, however temporary that state of affairs was.’

Tallie sank back in her chair aghast. So Lady Parry had not seen one of the shocking classical nudes, only this portrait. She should have trusted her instincts that her kind patroness was being too tolerant. Now what was she going to do?

Mr Harland had returned and he and Lady Parry were deep in discussion on the relative merits of head and shoulders and full length—three-quarters having been rapidly dismissed as neither one thing nor another. Eventually full length was decided upon, with a draped background. Tallie found it quite impossible to do more than keep an expression of interest on her face and then follow Lady Parry downstairs when her business was concluded.

Her head was spinning and she was conscious only of an overwhelming desire to throw herself on Nick Stangate’s chest and confess all. As this was dangerous insanity she stood on the pavement in the light mizzle which had just begun to fall and tried to drag air into her tightened lungs. Then she saw the man.

‘Tallie? What is it? You have gone quite pale.’ Lady Parry hurried her into the carriage and began to rummage in her reticule.

‘I think I … we … are being followed,’ Tallie blurted out.

‘What? By whom?’

‘A man—he has just ducked back into an alleyway down there. I saw him getting out of a hackney behind us when we arrived here, and I saw him lurking outside the house when we went to Ackerman’s the other day. And I am sure he has been around before—I thought him familiar then.’ Tallie broke off and tried to speak calmly. ‘I am sorry, Aunt Kate, I am probably imagining things.’

‘Perhaps, perhaps not. There are any number of dangerous characters around,’ Kate Parry said grimly. ‘I will speak to Nicholas about it.’

‘Oh, no! He will think me over-imaginative to worry about such things.’

‘Well, I am worried, and he had better not suggest that I am over-imaginative,’ Lady Parry retorted with a twinkle. ‘And in any case Nicholas uses enquiry agents from time to time, he will know all about how to deal with this.’

An unpleasant thought crept into Tallie’s mind. She knew Nick had had her investigated before she had joined his aunt. And he knew she still hid a secret from him. Was this man his, following her to discover that secret? If that was the case, then today he had been closer than he knew.

Nick was waiting for them when they returned to Bruton Street. They found him sprawled in an armchair with a careless elegance that took away Tallie’s breath. He tossed aside the portfolio of papers he was reading and got to his feet as they entered the room. Tallie realised she had never been so conscious of how long his legs were nor of how easily he moved.

‘A successful meeting?’ he asked with a smile, which faded as he took in the anxiety on his aunt’s face. ‘What is wrong?’

‘I think we had better talk about it over luncheon, Nicholas. Talitha and I will be down in a moment; will you be so kind as to tell Rainbird we will wait upon ourselves.’

* * *

Shortly after, Tallie sat down apprehensively and passed cold meats to Lady Parry at her side. She took a slice of bread and began to cut it into thin fingers.

‘Aunt Kate?’ Nick took a slice of beef, but did not start to eat. ‘What has occurred?’

‘Just a foolish idea of mine,’ Tallie said defensively. ‘The more I think about it, the more—’

‘Talitha believes she, or perhaps we, are being followed.’

Nick’s brows drew together sharply. ‘By whom?’

‘A thin man in a greatcoat and beaver hat.’

‘I am sure it is just a coincidence,’ Tallie murmured. His grey eyes turned to her face and he raised one brow.

‘And how often has this coincidence struck you?’

‘Four times,’ she admitted. ‘At least three I am certain of. I am sure I had seen him before—perhaps once, perhaps more—which is why I noticed him the next time.’

‘Did he approach you? Try to speak to you?’

Tallie shook her head and Lady Parry added, ‘I am certain he has some criminal intent. Perhaps he is trying to find a pattern to our comings and goings so he can break into the house. After all, look at poor Mr Harland.’

For a second the mask of calm enquiry that Nick was wearing cracked. His head turned sharply to his aunt. ‘Harland? What has happened to him?’

‘The house was broken into,’ Lady Parry explained. ‘It is dreadful how lawless the streets of London are becoming.’

‘And what was taken?’

‘Nothing apparently. They just searched amongst the canvases.’

‘Interesting.’ He said it almost to himself. ‘Now that is interesting.’

‘What shall we do about the man in the beaver hat, Nicholas dear?’

‘Go nowhere without two of the larger footmen in attendance and tell the coachman to carry a blunderbuss. I will speak to Rainbird. I would not worry, Aunt Kate—if this man has any sinister intent, he will soon see you are well protected and shift his interest elsewhere.’

Lady Parry appeared to find this sufficient reassurance and began to talk cheerfully of her planned portrait. Tallie was not so sure. She made herself eat her bread and butter and sip a little from her glass while watching Nick from under her lowered lashes. She could tell he was thinking furiously, despite the flow of inconsequential talk he was maintaining in response to his aunt.

When they rose from the table he intercepted her. ‘Tallie, I would like to speak to you if I may.’

She cast a hunted look at the dining-room door closing behind Lady Parry. She knew she should reprove him for using her pet name, but the sound of it on his lips was seductively sweet.

‘I promise I am not going to kiss you,’ he said infuriatingly. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion and he added, ‘Or do anything else to take advantage of—what did you call it?—oh, yes, our unfortunate mutual physical attraction.’

‘Good.’ Tallie edged around the table. Despite his assurances she still felt safer with a width of shining mahogany between them. Quite whether it was Nicholas or herself that she was nervous of she was not prepared to examine. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

‘Will you reconsider telling me about your secret? The one you believe my aunt knows all about. Only I do not believe she does.’

‘No, you are correct. She does not. I honestly believed it when I told you that, but I was wrong.’ It was a relief to tell him some of the truth if not all.

‘Tell me.’ He sat down opposite her.

Feeling a little more secure, Tallie sat too. Her legs were shaking. ‘Why?’

‘Because I think it would be safer if you did.’

It was very tempting. Tallie stared into the grey eyes, but they did not hold the reassurance she was looking for. It would not take very much to make her blurt it all out—she could quite understand why people confessed to crimes when questioned. But the inimical gaze regarding her belonged to the man who did not trust her, did not approve of her friends, who wanted her out of his family’s house and lives. The fact that she loved him did not make it any easier, it simply made the thought of the expression on his face when he discovered the truth harder to bear.

‘No.’ He looked a question and she said angrily, ‘Why should I? You make it quite clear you do not trust me. You disapprove of my friends, you wish me gone from here. Why should I hand you a weapon against me?’

‘Is this a war, then?’ He raised a long-fingered hand and rubbed a hand over his face. It was an uncharacteristically weary gesture.

‘It feels like one.’ Tallie wanted to go round and stand behind his chair, massage his shoulders, gently rub his temples until that tiredness ebbed away and he relaxed. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

‘I did not approve of your friends. I was wrong. I apologise. Miss Scott is an intelligent and principled woman. Miss LeNoir is a talented and virtuous one, and Mrs Blackstock seems eminently respectable.’

‘Thank you,’ Tallie said stiffly.

‘If I do not trust you, it is your judgement I mistrust, not your motives. As for your presence in this house—’ He broke off, pushed his hand through his hair and got to his feet, turning as he rose so that she could not see his face. ‘It is my aunt’s house, it is up to her who resides here. She enjoys your company very much. I believe she is proud of your success.’

‘Why, thank you.’

‘I try and fight fair,’ he said ruefully.

Tallie almost fell for it. Then she caught herself. Fight fair? With enquiry agents investigating her? Fight fair when he had discovered that if he took her in his arms she trembled and responded to him with an utterly shameless ardour?

‘Thank you,’ she said again. ‘But unfortunately I trust your motives as little as you trust my judgement, so I am afraid we are at a stalemate.’

‘You will not tell me? Is it so very dreadful? You were prepared to speak of it to my aunt, and presumably would have done so if she had not said something that convinced you she already knew.’

‘What I might discuss with another woman—and one who is my patroness—is quite different from what I might discuss with a man,’ Tallie said, casting down her eyes in what she hoped might be mistaken for maidenly confusion. She glanced up through her lashes and saw Nick was regarding her with amusement.

‘A very nice try, Tallie; however, I am not at all convinced by the shrinking maiden who is too shy to reveal her horrid secret to a man.’

‘I most certainly am—’ Tallie broke off, suddenly aware of the large hole her tongue was digging her.

‘A shrinking maiden? Hmm. I am prepared to believe one part of that description, but not the other.’ Only her determination not to give him any further cause for amusement stopped Tallie from an indignant retort. She glared instead. ‘You realise you are effectively challenging me to discover the truth for myself?’ he added.

‘You could simply mind your own business.’

‘But I am enjoying myself, Tallie,’ Nick said, turning towards the door. ‘You are proving an irresistible puzzle.’ With a mocking bow he let himself out, closing the door gently behind him.

Tallie took an angry turn down the length of the room and back. Infuriating man! In an effort to stop thinking about Nick Stangate, she turned her thoughts to his aunt. She should tell Lady Parry the truth about her sittings. It was one thing to be innocently deceiving her, but now she knew Lady Parry did not know the true state of affairs she could not, in all conscience, continue the deception.

Best to do it now, confess while she was feeling determined. Tallie marched over to the door, flung it open and walked into a scene of chaos.

Chapter Fourteen

It was a testament to the quality and thickness of the doors that Tallie had not heard the uproar from the dining room.

A young woman in modest, travel-stained but respectable clothing was weeping unrestrainedly on a hall chair despite the housekeeper’s efforts to calm her and wave smelling salts under her nose. William was standing back with the unmistakable air of panic of a man trapped by feminine emotion while his mother was alternating between anxious glances at the hysterical girl and attempts to con a letter she was holding. Lord Arndale, driving coat half-buttoned and hat and gloves in his hand, appeared to have given up trying to get out of the front door and was giving instructions to a footman who turned and hurried off towards the back stairs with unmistakable relief.

Rainbird, emanating disapproval of such a scene in the front hall, was trying to usher the entire party into the drawing room, but for once was being ignored by both family and staff alike.

Tallie decided she could either retire again, add to the chaos or attempt to be useful. With a sigh she stepped into the breach and touched Lady Parry on the arm. ‘I think she might calm down a little, ma’am, if there were not so many people. Shall I try and take her into the morning room?’

‘Oh, would you, Talitha dear? She just cries more when she sees me.’

Tallie was by now making out the tenor of the young woman’s plaint, which appeared to alternate between bitter self-recrimination that she should have so let Lady Parry down and inexplicable references to ‘that monkey being the last straw'.

‘What is her name?’

‘Miss Clarke. Maria Clarke.’

‘Come along, Miss Clarke … Maria. There’s a good girl. You come and sit down in a nice quiet room. No, Lady Parry is not at all angry … yes, this way. Mrs Mills, could you have some tea sent up, please?’

It took half an hour to calm the young woman and at the end of it Tallie was no wiser. However, Miss Clarke was red-eyed but subdued and had been sent off with the housekeeper to lie down and rest.

Feeling as if she had just emerged from Bedlam, Tallie emerged and found the butler surveying the quiet hall with austere satisfaction. ‘Where is her ladyship, Rainbird?’

‘Packing, Miss Grey.’

‘Packing? Is something wrong?’

‘I could not venture to say, Miss Grey. However, Miss Clarke, the young lady who was so afflicted, is the companion to her ladyship’s elder sister, the Dowager Marchioness of Palgrave.’

‘I see.’ Tallie saw nothing at all clearly, although it appeared that some domestic disaster must have struck the Dowager’s household. Could it possibly involve monkeys, or was that simply hysteria? ‘I do not believe I have met the Dowager,’ she began cautiously.

‘Her ladyship lives much retired.’ Rainbird hesitated and unbent further, dropping his voice in case any menial should overhear his indiscretion. ‘Her ladyship is considered … eccentric.’

Oh, dear, the monkey was probably real in that case. Tallie recalled hair-raising stories of Princess Caroline’s menagerie. ‘I had better see if there is anything I can do to assist Lady Parry. Have their lordships gone out?’

‘Lord Arndale has gone to arrange her ladyship’s carriage and outriders, Miss Grey. Lord Parry is, I believe, with her ladyship.’

As Tallie climbed the stairs she could hear William sounding plaintively defensive. ‘Of course I will escort you, Mama, I would not dream of doing anything else, but can I not put up at the Palgrave Arms when we get there?’

‘No, you cannot, William,’ his mother was saying briskly. ‘Goodness knows what we are going to find: monkeys could be the least of it. Remember last time?’

‘Surely not another zebra?’

‘Anything is possible with your Aunt Georgiana. At least she has got past the stage of unfortunate infatuations with pretty young men … Tallie dear, thank you so much for settling Miss Clarke. I must say I had not thought her the hysterical type, and after six months I was hoping she would prove ideal.’ Lady Parry heaved a sigh and sat down on the bed. ‘William, go and tell your valet to pack for at least four days. It took that long last time—and you are not putting up at the Arms.

‘Tallie, my love, I am very sorry about this, but I am afraid I am going to have to go down to Sussex and see what can be done about my sister, Lady Palgrave.’

‘Is she unwell, ma’am?’ Tallie sat on the bed too.

‘My sister, to be plain about it, is very strange—only, being a Dowager Marchioness, she is called eccentric. As a girl she was given to harmless but unconventional enthusiasms and regrettably her marriage proved unhappy, which only served to drive her further towards unsuitable obsessions. Her husband’s death has left her without any restraining influence and with a fortune large enough to indulge whatever fancy enters her head.

‘Her house is a menagerie of the most unlikely creatures, although fortunately now they are from the animal kingdom. There was a time when she was entertaining one unsuitable young man after another. All in pursuit of her money, of course—and I probably should not be telling an unmarried girl about it.

‘Anyway …’ she sighed again ‘… she swings between relative normality, when all that is required of her companion is to humour her, and really wild excesses. Apparently she has acquired a number of monkeys—quite large ones, according to the housekeeper’s letter—and has established them in the guest bedrooms. I shall have to go and see what can be done to restore some sort of order.’

‘Will Lord Arndale accompany you? I imagine he would cope very well with this sort of crisis.’

‘And so he would. Unfortunately my sister has a tendresse for him and is given to the most embarrassing displays of, er … affection.’

‘Goodness,’ Tallie said blankly, trying not to giggle at the thought of Nick being pursued around an animal-infested mansion by a middle-aged lady with amorous intent. ‘I had better go and pack.’

‘No, dear, it is very sweet of you, but I could not possibly inflict that household on you. You will be quite all right here with Mrs Mills and Rainbird and if you want to go to any parties while I am away, I will drop a line to Lady Cawston and Mrs Bridling-ton—their girls are usually invited to all the events you are. Or you could stay with your friends at Upper Wimpole Street if you do not feel quite comfortable here while I am out of town.’

‘I will be perfectly easy here with Mrs Mills, I assure you, Aunt Kate. In any case, Mrs Blackstone and Millie and Zenobia are going to Putney for a few days. Zenna has found details of a house that sounds exactly right for the school and Mrs Blackstock has a cousin living nearby, so they are all having a little holiday. They went off this morning.’

‘Are you sure you will be all right?’ Lady Parry regarded Tallie distractedly. ‘It hardly seems fair, but I could not possibly take you with me—one never knows what one might find.’

‘Dear Aunt Kate, I will be perfectly fine, I assure you, and I promise I will send a note round to Jane Cawston or Sally and Lydia Bridlington if I wish to go out in the evening. Although I would not be sorry for a little holiday from parties myself. I will have a quiet evening or two and will doubtless be all the better for it.’

‘If you are certain, dear.’ Lady Parry smiled with relief. ‘I intend leaving as soon as possible. It will mean a late arrival, but the roads are good and there is a full moon tonight. As my sister rarely retires before three in the morning, I have no fear of arriving and finding the house in darkness.’

In a remarkably short time—a circumstance that Tallie had no difficulty attributing to Nick Stangate’s forceful methods of organisation—Lady Parry’s cavalcade set off. Tallie stood on the front step to wave goodbye to her ladyship’s travelling carriage, Lord Parry driving his curricle and Nick astride one of his raking hunters.

He reined back at the kerbside, obviously desiring a final word, and Tallie came down to stand by the big horse.

‘I will stay overnight at the Palgrave Arms, just in case the situation is beyond my aunt’s capabilities to resolve, and will return tomorrow. If you need to speak to me, send word to Brook Street and I will come and take you for a drive.’

‘Will you not call?’ Tallie asked, puzzled. Nick was such a regular visitor to Bruton Street that it seemed strange that he would not come there directly on returning from Sussex.

‘Given that you are alone in the house save for the servants, I do not think that you should be receiving gentlemen visitors.’ He touched his whip to his hat and gathered up his reins, then hesitated. ‘If there should be any problem while I am away … if you should feel in any way alarmed by this man who may be following you … send to Mr Gregory Tolliver, Pickering Place, off St James’s Street.’

‘Who is he?’ Tallie asked, remembering William mentioning meeting Nick leaving ‘his agent’s’ house in that same location. How frank was Nick going to be with her?

‘He is in my employ and will know what to do,’ he said curtly, then unexpectedly leaned down and touched her cheek with his gloved hand before spurring the horse into a canter after the retreating carriages.

Thoughtfully Tallie climbed the steps and went into the house. So, Nick’s agent—presumably the same man whom he had used to make his enquiries into her background—would ‘know what to do’ about the mysterious man. Which meant that Nick was confiding in him and was taking it seriously. A slight tremor of anxiety was replaced by one of irritation. Why could he not confide in her and tell her what he thought was afoot?

She answered her own question. Because he does not trust you, Tallie, she thought grimly. You will not confide in him, so neither will he in you. Stalemate.

The next morning Tallie was enjoying the novel sensation of having nothing to do, nowhere she was expected to be and no one to please but herself and was employing the holiday by trimming a promenade hat of Lady Parry’s from last season. It was restful to be able to employ her old skills again, to concentrate closely on what her hands were doing rather than having to think or talk.

There was a knock at the door, which she ignored, then looked up in surprise when Rainbird brought a letter in. She was rather enjoying the solitude and regarded him with well-concealed irritation when the butler proffered the salver.

‘The man is waiting for a reply, Miss Grey.’

Tallie turned the folded sheet over in her hands, then recognised the handwriting: Mr Harland.

Her hands froze, but her heart seemed to turn in their stead. Why should the artist be writing to her? Slitting the wafer seal with her sewing scissors, she found that his letter was lengthy enough to occupy two closely written sheets.

The artist had penned it in an obvious state of excitement to inform Tallie that he had sold all six of the large classical canvases in which she featured.

With an internal sensation of having eaten far too much ice cream, Tallie read on. Please do not suppose that there is the slightest danger of the works being seen by London Society, Mr Harland had written, obviously anticipating Tallie’s anxieties. The gentleman concerned tells me he is buying them to decorate his private rooms in his castle in the far north of Scotland. He has lately returned from the Mediterranean lands and wishes to have a tangible reminder of the classical landscape.

Tallie blinked at the closely written sheet. It seemed likely enough, she supposed—but how had this Scottish patron heard of Frederick Harland, and particularly how did he know he had classical scenes for sale?

She opened the door and looked into the hall. As she hoped, it was Peter who had brought the letter and who was sitting patiently on one of the hard shield-back hall chairs, hat on knee, waiting for the expected answer.