Being Elizabeth (12 page)

T
he house was of the Regency period. Perfectly proportioned, it had many windows, tall chimneys and undeniable elegance. This architectural gem was hidden behind tall brick walls and stood in a lovely garden on the banks of the River Thames.

Originally purchased by Neville Watkins for his wife Nan, it had later been bought from Nan by Edward Deravenel, who had then gifted it outright to his brother Richard. In turn, Richard had bequeathed it to his favourite niece Bess Deravenel, who soon after became a Turner. Her son Harry Turner inherited it from Bess and had lived there for a while, as had his daughter Mary. Until her death, in fact. Because all of these owners had truly cherished the house, it had been treated with loving care by them for a hundred years. Just as it had been looked after exceptionally well by those who had owned it before them. In consequence, the exteriors and interiors were in excellent condition, and the house was a valuable property.

It really is a genuine treasure, Elizabeth thought as she pushed open the wrought-iron gate set in the red-brick wall, and walked into the garden.

She stood staring up at the house, admiring it, and then, unexpectedly, sudden memories assaulted her. A variety of images danced before her eyes … Those days spent here with her father and her little brother, Edward … Those happy days in the early eighties … her father, so full of kindness … then her father and his sixth, and last, wife Catherine … sweet, motherly Catherine, her favourite, who had loved her. And Thomas Selmere, Catherine's new husband, who had loved her too … Well, he had, hadn't he?

A shadow crossed her face, and she frowned, then let thoughts of Tom – the very dangerous Tom – slide away into oblivion. Involuntarily, she shivered, felt goose flesh spread. He could have been her undoing. But she had remained steady, calm, had kept a cool head, and had adopted the face of innocence, been demure, frequently silent, looking reflective. Because of her unassailable demeanour and her agile brain, she had fortuitously escaped trouble; but not Tom. Poor, foolish Tom.

She rang the bell and the front door was promptly opened by Ann Whitehead, the housekeeper, who greeted her warmly and ushered her inside.

The entrance hall was filled with winter sunlight, and Elizabeth squinted in the brightness as she glanced around. Dust motes rose in the air in the long shafts of light, and she let out a long sigh … there was a lovely quietness here in this vast hall, a tranquillity she remembered well … it had a peacefulness, this treasured house which had been so long in the family.

Ann took her coat, and Elizabeth thanked her, turned around. Instantly a wide smile spread across her face. Coming towards her were Kat, Thomas, and Blanche … the beloved trio who had raised her … who had attended to all of her interests since childhood. She loved them.

The three of them were suddenly surrounding her, hugging her, kissing her, and she could tell from their faces that they had only good intentions. And perhaps, also, good news. For as long as she had known them these three had been totally and incredibly
transparent. She had always known when trouble was stalking her, or bad news was imminent, been aware when happy times were ahead, or catastrophe looming. None of them had a talent for dissimulation, so they could never hide anything from her. And so it was this afternoon.

‘I can tell from your beaming face, Thomas, that you have something wonderful to tell me. Now, you do, don't you?' Elizabeth stepped away from him, eyeing him, laughter sparkling in her black eyes. ‘Come on, confess.'

He chuckled. ‘Good news, yes. Perhaps we might also call it wonderful. But let us go into the library and sit down, have a chat.'

‘Very well. Lead the way,' Elizabeth replied, and, turning to Kat, she squeezed her shoulder affectionately. ‘Thanks for everything you've been doing, Kat, and for the little suppers you've been leaving for me. And thank you, too, Blanche.' She slipped her arm through Blanche's, added, ‘You've done a fabulous job with the clothes. I hope you know how happy I've been with the new things.'

‘Of course, and I know you're appreciative.' Blanche, a happy soul, had been involved in Elizabeth's life since she was a little girl. Blanche, the kind-hearted Welshwoman, could never do enough for her. It was the deeply-ingrained Welshness of the Parrells that appealed to Elizabeth, who was part Welsh herself.

All of them walked down the hall together, heading towards the library. It was a room Elizabeth had gravitated to ever since she was a ten year old, a room that actually appealed to everyone. Now, as they went inside, she glanced around, thinking of the days when her father had occupied this room … how much he had enjoyed it.

There were hundreds of leather-bound books housed in mahogany shelves around the walls, a roaring fire in the grate as always, whether it was winter, spring, summer or autumn. Incredibly comfortable deep leather sofas and chairs, eye-catching objects of art and an array of priceless paintings gave the room its unique lustre, and a true sense of timelessness. It had not
changed at all since Neville Watkins's day, except for the addition of several paintings, which Elizabeth knew came from the collection of Jane Shaw, which she had left to Bess Deravenel Turner.

Taking a seat near the fire, Elizabeth said, ‘I'm on tenterhooks! Come on, Thomas, what's the great news then?'

‘A discovery in the basement here – a discovery that Kat made, actually, so I shall give the floor to her.'

Kat, sitting on the edge of her chair, looking excited, eager, said, ‘I found the most extraordinary collection of silver and gold objects in the vault, Elizabeth, and I was so impressed with some of the pieces, I hired an expert in antique silver to examine them for us, and to evaluate them. His name is Alex Pollard, and he was amazed by the finds, rather impressed. I'd had some of the items cleaned and polished, the ones I thought were the most valuable, and I was proven right. Alex agreed. They are by master craftsmen. Have you heard of Paul Storr, William Denny or Paul de Lamerie?'

Elizabeth shook her head, then exclaimed, ‘Oh, wait a minute! I think my father mentioned Paul de Lamerie on several occasions. He told me de Lamerie was the best-known English goldsmith of his generation. I believe he was appointed goldsmith to George the First.' Elizabeth frowned, trying to remember. ‘I'm sure my father admired his work, and possibly owned some things made by him.'

‘That's correct. I found a treasure trove of objects by de Lamerie in the cellar.' Kat stood up, and went on, ‘I'd like you to see the collection … I have everything on display in the dining room.'

The dining room was handsomely furnished and appointed, and although it was of large dimensions it nevertheless had a feeling of intimacy and warmth because of its colour scheme. Red silk
brocade covered the walls, red taffeta made wonderful draperies at the windows, and a red-and-black antique French rug covered the polished parquet floor.

Following Kat into the room, Elizabeth at once noticed that the mahogany dining table was fully extended; all of the extra leaves had been added. Immediately she understood why when she came to a standstill next to it. The entire surface was covered with gold and silver objects, items which were obviously of great value. Candlesticks, trays, service plates, bowls, tureens, dessert stands, fruit stands and goblets had been carefully arranged on its top.

‘How spectacular
these
are,' Elizabeth exclaimed, picking up one of the goblets, examining it. Turning to Kat, she said, ‘It's just lovely. And what craftsmanship went into it – I see it's designed like a tulip.'

‘It's by Paul de Lamerie, as is everything on this table,' Kat explained. ‘Alex Pollard put the value at approximately ten thousand pounds, just for one of the goblets. There are thirty of them altogether.'

Staring at her, Elizabeth said slowly, ‘So the thirty goblets are worth three hundred thousand pounds, that is what you're saying, isn't it?' She sounded surprised.

Kat replied, ‘And that's a low estimate, according to Pollard. At auction they could bring much more. You see, Paul de Lamerie was one of the best-known silversmiths of his time, and you were right about him being appointed goldsmith to King George I. That was in 1716, just after he had opened his London shop in 1712. He was quite celebrated.'

Elizabeth put the goblet back on the table, frowning. She asked, ‘But how could he produce so much? After all, the work is rather ornate, and truly exquisite, as you just pointed out.'

Kat looked at Thomas, who hurried over to join them at the table. ‘A good question, Elizabeth. I wondered exactly the same thing myself. So last week I did a bit of research. Seemingly,
Paul de Lamerie tried to ensure his financial success by opening a large workshop, with about twelve or thirteen employees. You see, he was smart, in my opinion, and worked on commissions, but also produced other pieces to be sold later. By having a workshop and using other talented craftsmen, he could meet the growing demand for his work. He was the most highly respected silversmith of his day in the first part of the 1700s and he was particularly famous for making ornamental plate. He was one of the first who worked in the Rococo style.' Thomas glanced at the table, waved his hand at the many objects.

Kat, looking at Elizabeth, explained carefully, ‘Everything bears the stamp of Paul de Lamerie, as well as the English mark which indicates the year of assay and guarantees the quality of the metal.'

‘Thanks for explaining, Kat. There's something that puzzles me, though. He has a French name, so why is he known as one of the greatest
English
silversmiths?'

Thomas answered her. ‘His parents were French Huguenots, who left France for religious reasons, went to the Netherlands where Paul was born, and later settled in London around 1691. Paul de Lamerie grew up in London and learned his craft here.'

‘I see.' Walking slowly, Elizabeth circled the table, staring down at the many beautiful gold and silver items. At one moment, she said to Kat, ‘If thirty golden goblets are worth three hundred thousand pounds, what about the rest of the Paul de Lamerie items? They certainly look like works of art to me, although I'm not an expert. Still, they are obviously extremely valuable.'

‘Alex is working on the inventory and making his estimates as we speak, and he will have a full report for me after Christmas. But yes, you're quite right, Elizabeth. You are, in fact, looking at a small fortune here. And also over there.' She indicated the trestle tables set up near the windows, which were holding yet another vast amount of silver objects.

Together, Thomas and Elizabeth crossed the dining room, Kat
and Blanche in their wake. ‘A great deal of these pieces were made by Paul Storr and William Denny, two more of England's great silversmiths,' Thomas told her. ‘But Kat knows more about them, since she did the research.'

‘Just look at these magnificent dessert stands!' Kat came forward, touched one of the stands, turned to Elizabeth. ‘These were made by Paul Storr in 1815, the English Regency period. The silver has the most wonderful patina, don't you think?'

Bending forward, Elizabeth examined one of the stands, nodding. ‘Yes, it does, Kat, and how beautiful this pair is. Just … extraordinary.' Her eyes rested on the dessert stands for a while longer. Each stand was an intricate design, composed of two putti on a raised base, one on each side of a leopard. Their arms were stretched up, supported a silver bowl with a crystal liner. Shifting her glance, Elizabeth stared at a pair of elegant candlesticks, and asked, ‘Are these by Paul Storr as well?'

Kat inclined her head. ‘Yes, they're George III candlesticks, also dated 1815. That large silver bowl is a crenellated Queen Anne montieth, dated 1720, and that was made by another renowned English silversmith, William Denny. As for Paul Storr, he was a goldsmith particularly noted for his exquisite craftsmanship, and he made quite a lot of presentation silver, as well. Actually, the cup he made for Lord Nelson, to celebrate the admiral's victory at the Battle of the Nile in 1798, is on display at the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich.'

Elizabeth, who had listened with interest, now said, ‘So what about the rest of this silver?' Her eyes swept across the two trestle tables. ‘There's so much of it here. Coffee services, tea services, bowls, tureens, jugs, cups, hunting cups, rose bowls, service plates, egg cups.' She began to laugh. ‘My God, who bought all of this? Who collected it?'

‘You'll be happy to know that I did find some inventories in the silver vaults downstairs. Actually, they're large rooms fitted with shelves, hidden behind heavy metal doors. Anyway, not to
digress. The Paul de Lamerie gold goblets were purchased at auction in the early 1920s by your great-grandfather, Edward Deravenel. It was he who also bought the dessert stands by Paul Storr. They must have been brought over here when your father sold the Berkeley Square house and moved in here.'