A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(30)

“Do you recall any of the details? The date of his trip? Where in his travels he acquired the alleged Titian?”

“Nay. Alisdair made many trips to the continent over the years. And on most o’ them he acquired artwork for me.” Barbreck huffed. “I canna recall the exact dates. No’ for a voyage so long ago. Nor the details o’ where he acquired what.”

“But surely he recorded the details somewhere. Made a record of the purchase.”

“Aye. But if ye wish to go pokin’ through those files, you’ll have to speak to my steward.”

I’d expected such an answer, and Gage’s resigned expression told me he’d anticipated much the same. It would be tedious work finding the information we sought, especially if Barbreck couldn’t narrow the search any further.

“He must have had a dealer acting on his behalf,” I interjected, thinking that would at least give us a name to look for listed at the top of the bill of sale. “Someone with the knowledge and connections to seek out interesting art for sale. Did he share his contacts?”

“I’m sure he did, but I dinna recall them noo. No’ this many years removed.”

My hands fisted in my lap as I began to grow frustrated with the marquess’s lack of information. I couldn’t tell whether he was being deliberately obstructive—determined to have the finger of blame point at Miss Campbell—or he truly didn’t know. “But surely you must have at least asked your brother where he acquired that purported Titian? After Sir James’s allegations, you must have discussed it.”

“O’ course, we did,” he snapped. “But Alisdair assured me the man he purchased it from would never have sold him a forgery. That he was too august, too well-respected to even countenance such a thing. And to even ask him aboot it would have been the height o’ insult and sever his chances o’ ever doin’ business wi’ the man again.”

“Which is exactly how you would react were you a dealer who sometimes traded in forgeries,” Henry remarked with a cynical curl to his lips.

“Aye, weel, Alisdair was my brother and I trusted him. And he trusted the man. So I trusted him.” He sank back in his chair, a troubled expression creasing his brow.

“And it was as simple as that,” Gage said, laying out the logic he must have used in making that long-ago decision. “You trusted your brother, so he must be telling the truth. Which meant the Campbells and their expert had to be lying.”

“Except your brother was wrong,” I added in a gentler voice than I wished to use. “Whether he knew the truth or not, that Titian was . . . is a fraud.”

His eyes rekindled with fury. “No’ if they switched—”

“They didn’t,” I stated firmly, halting his denial. “The damage that proved it was a fraud fifty-four years ago is still evident today.”

His lips were pressed together so tightly they quivered, but then he heaved a deep breath. “Near the horse’s legs?”

He was familiar with it, too, then. Which most definitely confirmed it.

“But couldna that damage be replicated?”

I shook my head. It would be almost impossible to make it look natural, and I felt I could detect the difference.

Barbreck turned away, as if he still couldn’t face the truth head-on.

“What about the Van Dyck?” I asked after giving him a moment to reflect. “Did your brother acquire it at the same time as the forged Titian?” There was no point in continuing to use the word alleged even if it made Barbreck flinch.

“Nay.” He pulled a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his coat, wiping his brow with it. “Nay, he purchased that for me some years later. From somewhere in England.”

“So it wasn’t obtained through the same dealer?”

“Nay.”

Perhaps Lord Alisdair had been more suspicious of the dealer who sold him the forged Titian than we realized. Or maybe I was trying to give him more credit than he deserved. After all, Van Dyck had painted in England, so one did not have to go far to find his work. While the dealer from whom Lord Alisdair had acquired the Titian had likely been based in Rome or even Venice, where Titian had done most of his painting, they were unlikely to be the same man.

Yet, they were both forgeries. And there still might be more forgeries in Barbreck’s collection. This did not speak to Lord Alisdair’s abundance of caution.

I searched Barbreck’s weary face, curious if he’d done what I asked. “Have you gone to look at the Van Dyck since I told you my suspicions?”

“Aye.” With the aid of the walking stick propped between his legs, he hefted his bulk so that he could sit taller.

“And?” I prodded.

“It’s no’ the same painting,” he stated flatly. “I see what you’re sayin’ noo. The one hangin’ there is dull and lifeless. There’s no way it’s the same portrait that arrived here years ago. It doesna even make me feel the same.”

But was that because it truly wasn’t the same painting, or because I had pointed out the flaws and proven it to be a fraud?

So I pressed him. “You’re certain?”

“Aye, I’m certain.” He was back to growling. “Ye dinna think you’re the only one wi’ an eye for art, do ye?”