A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(26)

She clasped her hands more tightly together in her lap, scrutinizing me in return. For a moment, I worried she might decline. But then she lowered her chin, and the tiny furrow between her brows cleared. “What do ye want to ken?”

I looked at Gage, wishing I had thought to confer with him on the best way to proceed. But as there was no time for that now, I decided it would be prudent to start at the beginning. Or at least the earliest known incident to do with the art forgery.

“We understand that some years ago your father arranged to purchase a painting by Titian that Lord Barbreck’s brother, Alisdair, procured for you. But then you discovered it was a forgery. Is that correct?” I’d deliberately chosen not to mention their broken engagement, wondering if it might be too sensitive a topic, but Miss Campbell seemed to have no qualms about speaking of it.

“Aye, and if ye ken that much, then you also ken it led directly to the ending o’ our betrothal. Or did Barbreck omit that part?” she added dryly.

I exchanged another glance with Gage and then Henry. “He told us something of it.”

She huffed. “Made a big fuss, more like. Called it an affront to his honor and that o’ the Mallery name.”

“Though he had no trouble questionin’ Father’s. Nor yours,” Miss Margaret remarked almost blithely as she picked up her needlework to begin stitching again.

Miss Campbell turned to look at her, her eyes narrowing in displeasure, before she returned her attention to me. “But if ye identified the Van Dyck as a forgery, then I’d wager you’ve taken a look at the Titian as well.”

“I have.”

Her eyes glittered like hard emeralds. “And?”

I hesitated, perhaps out of some misbegotten loyalty to Barbreck, but then I decided she deserved the truth. “The Titian is either a blatant attempt at a forgery, or some later artist painted over the original for some unknown reason, effectively destroying it.”

I’d expected her reaction to be one of immense satisfaction over this vindication that she and her father had been right to question the painting’s authenticity. But my response seemed to subdue rather than delight her. In the jumble of all the emotions reflected in her eyes, pleasure was not one of them.

Miss Margaret noticed this as well, lowering her embroidery as she watched her sister closely. “Ye were right, then,” she said evenly. “And noo Barbreck kens it, too.”

Miss Campbell smoothed her hands over her lap, her gaze still lowered to the rug at our feet. “Aye.”

But that fact didn’t change the past. It didn’t change the fifty-some-odd years that had passed since then. She couldn’t help but be thinking of this, for I was, and I was merely an observer, and a latecomer at that. I had suspected there was more to Barbreck’s emphasis on the monetary and dynastic advantage to both families as the primary reason for their engagement, and now seeing how Miss Campbell struggled with her own emotions, I was even more convinced of it. It made my heart go out to her. For although it was impossible to know precisely how deep each of their emotions had run, it was obvious there had been some sort of tender feeling between them. Enough that this vindication was as painful as it was gratifying.

“How did you and your father know the Titian was a fake?” I voiced as she continued to struggle. Had our situations been reversed, I knew I would have been glad of someone prodding the topic along.

“There was a chip.” Taking a deep breath, she lifted her gaze and spoke more firmly. “Near the middle o’ the canvas. It had flaked away to reveal a different shade o’ paint underneath.”

“Near the horse’s legs?”

“Yes, I believe so. It’s been some time since I last saw it . . . since I last thought o’ it.” Her shoulders straightened. “Father invited an art expert to visit, a man a friend o’ his had recommended. And when he showed him the painting, the man studied it for less than a minute before declarin’ it to be a fraud. Somethin’ by a lesser artist that had either been mislabeled by a fool or deliberately misattributed in order to exploit the gullible.” Her eyes had narrowed as if in remembered outrage.

“So you confronted Barbreck?” Gage queried.

“Aye. And his brother, Alisdair.”

“He’d acquired the painting?” Gage asked in confirmation, and she nodded. “Do you know from where?”

“He brought it home from one o’ his trips to the continent. He was always dashin’ off to Italy and Greece, and sometimes Spain and France. That’s where he obtained most o’ Barbreck’s art collection. Here and there, wherever he found an eager seller.”

Truth be told, that was how most gentlemen acquired their art and antiquities collections. These treasures were procured either on voyages they’d personally undertaken, beginning as young men with their Grand Tours of the continent—a journey which had been almost a rite of passage among aristocratic young men after coming of age and completing university—or through the services of one of the many dealers established throughout the continent who had made a name for themselves, and a fortune to go with it, by catering to the whims and avarice of British collectors. Unfortunately, these dealers’ scruples were not always all that one would hope them to be.

I’d once had an interesting and informative conversation with Gage’s friend Mr. Knightley about this acquisition of antiquities from the classical civilizations, and the corrupt means by which such items were sometimes obtained. It turned out that Mr. Knightley was rather an expert on the subject of antiquities, and one whom Gage had consulted on two previous inquiries, which was how they had met. He was also more well-versed than most in the tricks of these dealers’ trade as well as the methods of the Italian restorers they worked with. The jugglery they used joining together different fragments of statuary—some ancient, some more modern—to create a pleasing piece, the methods they used to age them, and the tales the dealers wove to distract the purchaser from making a closer inspection of the item, appealing to the collectors’ desires and self-conceit. Had Lord Alisdair fallen for such ploys?