Pandora(42)

‘What is it?’

‘My hand! It …’

But as quickly as the heat came it has gone. Dora stares first at her hand, then at the pithos.

‘The lid. It was as though it were burning.’

Eyebrows knitting, Mr Lawrence taps his fingers on it a couple of times as if to test, but then he shrugs, looks up. ‘It feels cool.’

Hesitant, Dora touches it herself. He is quite right. It is cool, no heat there at all. But she was so sure …

She shakes herself, rubs her fingers wearily across her eyelids. ‘I must be imagining things. Tiredness, I expect.’

‘Then we should get on,’ Mr Lawrence says. ‘We have a lot to do.’



He begins with the pithos.

A rudimentary examination, for after all – as Mr Lawrence said – Dora is drawing the thing, and all he needs do is establish evidence. He produces a small glass vial from his waistcoat pocket and a scalpel, and very carefully scrapes some grains of clay from under the rim of the lid. Next he attempts to look underneath the pithos itself, but even with Dora supporting one side, it is impossible.

‘Too heavy,’ he grunts with disappointment. ‘And I daren’t try force my hand in case it topples. But perhaps the clay sample will be all that’s needed.’

After that he takes notes within a small black book he extracts from his other pocket. Measurements, unique markings, a description of the scenes as Dora explains them to him. Then Mr Lawrence leaves her to sketch while he makes a start on the shelving. She notes how he hesitates a moment before leaving the candelabrum with her, taking a candle instead from one of the sconces near the desk. He moves slowly, for Hermes stares at him with a discerning eye.

‘He is deciding whether to trust you,’ she says, when Mr Lawrence backs away from the bird with unmitigated wariness. ‘Perhaps, after a few more visits, Hermes may let you pet him.’

‘I think,’ Mr Lawrence says as he moves back to the safety of the shelves, ‘I would rather keep him at arm’s length if it’s all the same to you.’

Dora shakes her head and smiles, resumes her copy of the second scene.

She starts with simple outlines, her pencil whispering softly over the page; an uneven arch for the mountain, gentle swirls for its winding path. She moves slowly around the pithos, ensuring each element of the scene is placed correctly, draws in ovals for the eagles, the vultures, a triangle for the rock. She returns then to her original position on the floor, adjusts her spectacles, eyes narrowing as she begins to flesh out the stick figures of Zeus and Prometheus.

‘Hmm.’

Dora glances up. Mr Lawrence has some of the Grecian earthenware set down in a semicircle at his feet, is tapping his pencil against the edge of his teeth.

‘There are one or two forgeries here, but there are a number of genuine ones too.’ He points at a pair of shallow vases near his right foot. ‘Same styling, but the one very clearly a copy. A bad one too.’ He looks at Dora. ‘Perhaps one of your uncle’s failed attempts?’

‘Perhaps.’ She looks at the collection at his feet. ‘Some are authentic, then?’

‘Yes. Quite a few, actually.’

Her stomach sinks. ‘And you can date them?’

‘Ahh …’ Mr Lawrence squats, tapping his pencil again to his teeth. ‘I think so. Much easier than the pithos over there.’ He holds a small bowl-shaped piece up for her to view. ‘The pithos is plain clay, no paintwork at all, just simple carvings. It could be a very early piece or simply unfinished. This one though is what they call “black-figure style”. Very obviously, the figures are painted black. These didn’t come in until the seventh century BC. That one,’ he adds, pointing to a taller piece on his left, ‘is described as “white-ground technique”. Again, rather obvious in that the images are painted on a white background, and these weren’t produced until five hundred BC or thereabouts.’ Mr Lawrence places the bowl back on the floor. It meets the flagstone with a dull scrape. ‘So. I can give you a general idea, at least.’

Dora rests the sketchbook against her knees. ‘Then,’ she says, resigned, ‘while my uncle peddles forgeries and tat upstairs, he keeps genuine antiquities in a basement to …’

She cannot finish the sentence. Not out loud. She lowers the pencil, puts her head in her hand.

It is entirely possible Hezekiah keeps these particular antiquities with the intention of selling them legally, at some point. But Dora knows her uncle well enough to understand that if he can pass forgeries off as genuine pieces without any qualms about the matter, then it’s likely he will have no qualms about selling true specimens through more questionable avenues if it brings him greater reward.

Dora knows what ‘black-market’ means – she learnt enough from conversations overheard between her father and his workers on the archaeological sites, and warnings issued to his clients in the shop, that any wares which passed hands in such a way were stolen goods. Illegal trading. And if Hezekiah were to be caught … it is punishable in only one way.

One very final way.

‘Miss Blake?’

Dora sighs, lifts her head. ‘Can we find out for sure where he acquired them?’

‘Only if he keeps records of the fact.’

Mr Lawrence looks over to the desk. Hermes cocks his head at him, black eyes glinting in the candlelight.