Bloody Royal Prints (28 page)

“I thought it must be like that. I have an idea: We buy fifty percent of your company's equity. With that, we can provide long-term debt financing to help you expand. We'll produce an American half of your magazine—
Country Life
has almost no American coverage—and you will produce an English section, which we'll put in
First Home
. I think we can come up with two winners. I've already begun to introduce some English ideas and products in my food department. I've been looking at fashion—like your wonderful hats, but they're way too expensive. Do you have any ideas?”

“Oh, yes. So many. Give me a little time, and I'll put together a plan. That sounds fabulous. What else would you be interested in—food, fashion, and . . . ?”

“Gardens, theater, films, book reviews,” Coleman said. “I just bought dozens of books at Hatchards that have never made it to New York. Put your plan together, and I'll show it to Heyward. Do you have a money man we can talk to—or are you it?”

“My husband is our accountant. He's the one to discuss money.”

Kathy had ordered salads for them to eat in the magazine's conference room so they could keep on talking. Coleman called Heyward to tell him she wouldn't be back for lunch. “Well, I think we've moved along a lot today. I'm here a week and a half more. We'll keep communicating, keep planning. Stay in touch,” Coleman said. She didn't get home until two thirty and went straight to bed, sleeping until it was time to dress for the ballet.

•••

Her meeting with Rachel had also been successful, but not much fun. She hardly knew Rachel, but she could not miss the dark circles under her eyes and her sad expression. Rachel made it clear she wasn't interested in small talk, and went straight to the business at hand.

“I've concluded we can't do this without a partner. I think a museum would be ideal. What would you think of approaching Dinah's museum, the Art Museum of Great Britain? I'm sure they'd be happy to be a part of the program.” Coleman thought that was a great idea, and urged Rachel to proceed.

Rachel had contacted several people knowledgeable about art to help identify and select out-of-print books to be republished, and Coleman thought her choices were ideal. She suggested Rachel stay in touch with Dinah and get to know Bethany, who would be her U.S. contacts for the project. They would have suggestions, too.

Rachel agreed, and tactfully brought their meeting to a close.

When Coleman told Heyward about her experience with Rachel, he wasn't surprised. “She's been through a bad time, but she'll get it all done,” he said.

“That's what matters,” Coleman said.

Wednesday, May, London

Dinah came home Wednesday evening happy as a lark. She'd had a great day at the museum. She was humming to herself when she went upstairs to shower and change, knowing her new cook would come up with a delicious dinner, tonight featuring a crab soufflé.

She felt a sudden stab of guilt. She'd eaten crab soufflés with Rachel the day she met Stephanie. She should have called Rachel as soon as she'd heard about Stephanie's death, and called again when she heard Rachel's friend Julia was a murderer. There would never be a better time than now.

Rachel was glad to hear from her. The poor woman sounded very unhappy about Stephanie's death, and about her friend Julia's crimes. Neither of them knew the details of the girl's death, nor plans for a memorial service. Dinah had little to say other than how sorry she was, and she was about to hang up when Rachel raised a new topic: “Have you ever heard noises in the night at 23 Culross?”

“No, just shouts in the daytime from the horrible women,” Dinah said. “Why do you ask?”

“Julia told me there's a rumor the house is haunted. She also told me a story about Lady Jane's nanny having hidden treasures in the house, treasures which have never been found,” Rachel said.

“How exciting. I don't believe in ghosts, but there may be a door here somewhere that we don't know about, used by the thieves. I'll ask James, Hamilton, and Franklin to see what they can find. I'll keep you posted. So good to talk to you, Rachel. See you soon, I hope,” Dinah said.

As soon as she hung up, she rushed downstairs to tell Hamilton what Rachel had said. He was as excited as she was.

“If there's an extra door here, it's in the basement,” he said. “The basement is full of small rooms and cubbies. If we find a door, we'll make sure it's locked.”

“Absolutely. I hate the thought of people being able to come in here at night,” Dinah said.

“As for treasure, if it's small it can be anywhere, but we'll start with the attic. No one ever goes there. The last time I looked, it was full of junk, papers, broken furniture. Lady Jane might want us to clean it out. It would give us a good excuse to search. James should ask her if she'd like us to clean the attic and the basement,” he said.

“Great. Let me know what she wants,” Dinah said.

•••

After dinner, Hamilton approached her with the news.

“There is indeed an exit leading outdoors from the basement. It's now well-locked on both sides. And James spoke to Lady Jane. She'd be very pleased if we'd clean the attic and the cellar, but she was worried about paying us. James told her you wanted it done—you've heard mice—so you were paying. Of course, we'll do it for nothing, but if I told her that, she'd be upset.”

Thursday, May, London

On Thursday evening when Dinah came home after work, Hamilton met her at the door, nearly jumping with excitement.

“We found what we think is a treasure: old postage stamps.”

“I don't know anything about stamps, but I think Jonathan does,” Dinah said.

While Jonathan was sipping his pre-dinner glass of wine, Dinah approached him. “Haven't I heard you mention stamp collecting?”

“Yes, a bit,” he said. “Why?”

Dinah handed him the musty-smelling, worn, leather-bound book that Hamilton had found in the attic. “This was in a locked trunk. Hamilton brought the trunk downstairs and broke the lock. It was full of papers, invoices, receipts, financial records, all dating back to the 1890s and the early twentieth century. And this book, which seems to have old stamps in it. Please take a look,” she said.

Jonathan opened the book. “It's a stamp collection, but an odd one. Not the usual stamp album, with little illustrations and numbers indicating where to place stamps. This is customized, and old—the stamps are secured by strips of paper. Probably before collectors started using paper hinges, let alone cellophane or plastic sleeves.”

Dinah smiled. Her husband was revealing a side of himself she'd never seen. “You do know ‘a bit' about stamps, don't you? How did you come by this esoteric knowledge?”

Jonathan blushed. “I collected stamps when I was young. But it was considered nerdish, and I kept my interest quiet. I should have been playing football, I suppose, but I enjoyed learning about places, people, events,” he said. “A stamp collection is a great history teacher.”

“But you were an athlete in college—you swam for Harvard,” Dinah said. “We've got pictures to prove it. You didn't just collect stamps.”

“I quit collecting by the time I was in prep school. But I've remained interested in news about stamps, when it shows up in the papers, or an auction catalogue.”

“Tell me what you make of these stamps.”

Jonathan squinted at the small squares of paper. “They are old, and they're all British Colonials. This is a very specialized collection. There's probably value here. The denominations are large, which adds to rarity, like one pound or five dollars, in the case of Newfoundland—yes, Newfoundland was once a separate colony. Large-denomination stamps were issued in small quantities, because they were little used. But if the mother country had a one-pound stamp, each colony wanted one, too. The African countries all have their colonial names, like Tanganyika, not Tanzania. This collection may be close to one hundred years old.”

He was still looking through the book when his eyes widened and his voice rose. “This can't be true! This looks like a British Guiana One-Cent Magenta. Is it possible? I've never seen one, but I've seen photos. It's the rarest stamp in the world. I can't believe it—this is beyond belief. It's thought that there was only one in existence. We have to take this to an expert.”

Dinah could understand Jonathan's excitement. She knew the thrill of finding a long-sought-after print. “What else can you tell me about it?”

“It has a storied past, and coincidentally, I'm up to date. Sotheby's just announced that it was about to auction the only known British Guiana One-Cent Magenta. I read an article about it last week. Sotheby's was quoted as estimating it would sell for over ten million dollars. The seller is the estate of its last owner, a DuPont heir who died in prison.”

“Prison?” Dinah asked.

“He murdered his boyfriend,” said Jonathan. “But the legend goes that there were two of these stamps in existence. The owner of both, a rich textile magnate, burned one with his cigar lighter to ensure there would be only a single surviving copy, thereby enhancing its value. If the legend is true, this must be a third. It certainly adds to the allure.”

Jonathan's enthusiasm was contagious. Could they have found a real treasure? “What do we do now?” she asked.

“The largest stamp dealer in the world is right here in London. Stanley Gibbons, on the Strand. I've walked by and glanced in the window. We'll take the stamp to them. If this thing is for real, they'll faint. They'll want to do all kinds of tests on it—paper type, ink, exact size. If it proves true, Sotheby's will have a heart attack. Ten million dollars will become one or two million. The existence of two of the stamps rather than one will drastically lower the value.”

“Should we tell Lady Jane? I guess she's the rightful owner—or do all of her horrible relatives have a share in the collection?” Dinah grimaced at the thought.

“No, let's find out if this rarity is for real. Anyhow, there's value to all of these stamps. We'll get Stanley Gibbons to appraise the collection, then tell her.”

•••

Jonathan didn't go into the office the next morning, an unheard-of event. He—with the stamp album carefully stowed in his briefcase—and Dinah were at Stanley Gibbons when the door opened at ten in the morning.

Dinah had never been in a stamp dealer's gallery. It was a far cry from a New York art gallery. In contrast to the serenity and calm of a typical art gallery, Stanley Gibbons was blatantly commercial, with posters all over the walls advertising stamps for sale. Magazines promoting stamp collecting filled racks. A man seated behind a raised desk, right at the entry, greeted them with a cheery “Good morning” and “Please come in.” Quite a change from the usual haughty receptionist in a New York gallery.

Jonathan spoke up. “We'd like you to look at this collection, and if you think it's worthy, appraise it for us.”

The dealer took one look at the first page, and summoned a colleague. “This is a special group of stamps. These old Colonials are worth something. There seem to be multiple stamps from every colony in the Empire,” the dealer explained to his cohort.

Jonathan turned to the last page in the book, where the single British Guiana was displayed. Stunned silence.

Then both dealers started talking at once.

“Could it be?”

“It can't be.”

“It looks right.”

“It's a forgery, for sure.”

“Too perfect.”

“I've seen the real one—this is identical.”

“We've got to really analyze this. Can we keep it?”

Turning to Dinah and Jonathan, Dealer #1 said, “By coincidence, Sotheby's is about to auction . . . ”

Jonathan interrupted. “Yes, I know. I've read about the upcoming sale.”

Dealer #2 said, “What you might not know is that the stamp is in London today, at Sotheby's. It's on a world tour so collectors can see the real thing before the actual sale, without having to travel to New York. Hong Kong is next. Or maybe you did know. There's too much coincidence about this.”

Dinah, recognizing the dealer's implication, spoke up. “Our butler and I discovered this stamp book yesterday afternoon in our attic. Neither of us knows anything about stamps. I showed it to my husband last night, and he knew enough to recognize possible value in the entire collection. We came here immediately.”

Jonathan, annoyed, said with his Boston aristocrat manner, “We'll take this somewhere else if you don't treat us with courtesy. We are not thieves or forgers.”

The dealer capitulated. “We can take your Guiana to Sotheby's, and put it side by side with the one that was thought to be the only one in existence and compare.”

Dinah asked, “Will Sotheby's allow that? Won't they deny the existence of ours, or at least argue that it's a forgery?”

“If our paper consultant verifies the paper, Sotheby's will have no choice. Our consultant works in the city—he'll be here in thirty minutes, once we call him. We can check dimensions and ink with a direct comparison to Sotheby's copy. Can we keep it?”

Jonathan's suspicions were aroused. “No, we're not leaving it,” he said, and turning to Dinah, “I'm calling Heyward. We need advice and backup.”

•••

The paper expert, carrying a large case of special equipment, arrived at Stanley Gibbons's door with Heyward Bain, flanked by two of his lawyers.

One of the dealers, under Jonathan's watchful eye, gingerly handed the stamp to the paper expert, who put it on a tray beneath a microscope. Bain began instructing his lawyers to draw up a contract with Stanley Gibbons, and turned to Dinah. “You and your butler found this item, but I suppose Lady Jane Ross is the owner?”