The Painted Lady (23 page)

‘Perhaps you should take another look at those articles that Elkannah drew up for us. Specific mention was only made of
Araminta’s
household, not of Sir Martin’s. At the time when we formed the Society,’ said Kidbrooke, ‘she was not married and was living with her cousin here in London.’

‘Don’t try to wriggle out of this, Jocelyn. You violated the spirit of the articles and should forfeit your right to the purse.’

‘It’s not the purse I’m after, Sir Willard.’

‘No, it’s that poor, wounded, defenceless, grieving widow.’

‘As for the spirit of the articles,’ said Kidbrooke, ‘that does not apply here. I did not try to bribe one of Sir Martin’s gardeners. Abel Paskins had already left his employ.’

‘Yes – he was working for my brother-in-law.’

‘I made him a more attractive offer.’

‘Then pumped him for intelligence about Araminta.’

‘I may have asked him if he was aware of the way that the romance between Sir Martin and her had first developed, but I also wanted him to build a rockery in my garden. The one he constructed for Mr Foxwell,’ he went on, ‘was what first drew my attention to him.’

‘You cheated, Jocelyn.’

‘I simply made the most of my chances.’

‘You broke the rules.’

‘What would you have done in my place, Sir Willard?’

‘Behaved more honourably.’

‘I beg leave to question that,’ said Kidbrooke, roundly. ‘Had you known that Paskins had once worked for Sir Martin Culthorpe, you’d have whisked him away from under your brother-in-law’s nose without a second thought. Am I correct?’

Sir Willard was spared the awkwardness of a reply by the return of the waiter with a bottle of wine. When he had poured it into the two glasses, he withdrew again. Kidbrooke lifted his glass.

‘Let’s drink as friends,’ he encouraged.

‘Very well,’ said the other, picking up his glass. ‘But I’ll not forgive you for what you did, Jocelyn. You tried to gain an advantage over the rest of us by using corrupt means.’

‘I admit that I tried.’

‘And what did you learn?’

‘That Sir Martin was right to dismiss Abel Paskins.’

‘Why?’

‘The fellow was surly and ungovernable. Left to himself, he worked well and hard but he insisted on having his own way. Also, he was forever complaining.’

‘About what?’

‘Whatever took his fancy – he thrived on argument.’

‘Cuthbert had no trouble from the fellow.’

‘Then he would have been welcome to have him back because I soon regretted tempting him away from Mr Foxwell.’

‘When I called at your house, they said Paskins was not there.’

‘That’s quite true, Sir Willard.’

‘Where is he?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Kidbrooke, resentfully. ‘He left earlier this week without a word of explanation. Paskins has flown the coop.’

As soon as they got back to Christopher’s house, he asked Jacob to pour three large glasses of brandy. The old man was perturbed when he saw his master return with his two companions but he masked his concern with his usual aplomb. Jacob was used to seeing Henry in flamboyant clothing but not with a painted face. It worried him. What really disturbed him was the sight of the little French valet with a powdered features and a woman’s wig on his head. He was, however, spared the blue dress. Emile had changed out of that before leaving Mother Pilgrim’s Molly House.

Left alone with their brandy, Christopher fired off a question.

‘Why did you steal that portrait, Emile?’ he challenged. ‘Did
you want to show it off to your friends at Fanny Pilgrim’s?’

‘I no steal it,’ insisted Emile.

‘Then what did you do?’

‘I hide it so that nobody could take it away. Matilda, she warn me that this man go to the studio when I was not there. He look at the painting of Lady Culthorpe. He want it.’

‘You can hardly blame the fellow,’ said Henry, blithely, giving no hint that he was the man in question. ‘Any portrait of Araminta would be like spun gold.’

‘I was scared,’ said the valet. ‘I know what Monsieur Villemot would say if anyone steal it. So I hide it.’

‘Where?’

‘Under my bed.’

‘In other words,’ said Christopher, ‘it’s still in the house.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why did you tell us it was stolen?’

‘Because I want everyone to think that,’ said Emile, tasting the brandy with gratitude. ‘If they believe the portrait is not there, they will not come to the house.’

‘That was very clever of you but it did mean that we were searching for a stolen painting that never actually went missing. You wasted our time, Emile, time that could have been devoted to helping to get Monsieur Villemot released from prison.’

‘I sorry.’

‘What made you decide to be Araminta?’ said Henry.

‘I look at the painting every day. She is so lovely.’

‘You achieved a remarkable verisimilitude.’ He saw that he had strayed beyond the bounds of the valet’s English vocabulary. ‘You looked just like her, Emile.’

‘It was the tribute. I like her.’

‘How long have you been going to Fanny Pilgrim?’

‘Since we move to London.’

‘Does your master know about this?’ said Christopher.

‘Oh, yes,’ replied Emile as if the question was unnecessary. ‘Of course, he did. I hide nothing from him.’

‘And he didn’t mind?’

‘Monsieur Villemot is an artist. He believe in freedom.’

‘I can think of better ways to exercise it.’

Henry sipped his drink. ‘You take too narrow a view of the world, Christopher,’ he said, ‘and fail to appreciate its teeming variety. I’d not care to spend an evening among the catamites in a Molly House but I refuse to condemn those that do. Well, you met Samson,’ he added. ‘Have you ever seen a more feeble, confused, innocuous creature? I dislike his sin but pardon the sinner.’

‘I’d prefer to put tonight’s little escapade behind us, Henry,’ said his brother. ‘Now that we know the portrait is safe, one problem is solved. We can turn to the more pressing one of Monsieur Villemot’s imprisonment.’

‘We must get him out,’ pleaded Emile, ‘or he die.’

‘I hate to say this but he’s his own worst enemy. Instead of telling me what I need to know to mount his defence, he keeps holding back salient facts.’

‘What sort of facts?’ said Henry.

‘He won’t tell me where he went on the day of the murder.’

‘You already know that. He went to Araminta’s house.’

‘But where did he go
afterwards
?’ asked Christopher. ‘He did not come back to the studio for two hours or more, and when he did, he was in a state of excitement.’

‘If I’d been to her house, I’d be in a state of delirium.’

‘He’s hiding something from me, Henry, something that might prove his innocence. It’s perverse,’ said Christopher in exasperation. ‘How can I help someone who keeps telling me lies?’

‘What sort of lies?’

‘To begin with, he told me that he was married and that he wanted the house built for him and his wife. But it turns out that there
is
no wife back in Paris.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Emile told me.’

The two brothers looked at the valet. Shifting in his seat, he took a long sip of his brandy. The resemblance to Araminta Culthorpe had vanished completely now. He was a weary, aging, bewildered, frightened little man.

‘Why did he mislead me, Emile?’ said Christopher. ‘Why did he tell me that he has a wife in France?’

Emile looked hunted. He rolled the glass between his palms.

‘I not tell you.’

‘Why?’

‘Ask him,’ said Emile.

Elkannah Prout knew that his invitation would, in all probability, be declined but he nevertheless decided to offer. He called early at the house in the hope of catching his friend before he went out. Jocelyn Kidbrooke was less than welcoming but he agreed to speak to his visitor. They adjourned to the drawing room.

‘Why did you come here?’ asked Kidbrooke.

‘If we talk in your home, you’ll be reminded that you have a wife and children. I think that’s an important factor.’

‘Don’t preach morality at me, Elkannah. You’ve enjoyed every vice in London so it ill befits you to set yourself up as an arbiter of other people’s behaviour.’

‘That’s not what I’m doing,’ said Prout.

‘Then why does your voice have that sanctimonious ring to it?’

‘I came to issue an invitation.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Kidbrooke. ‘It’s the visit to Newmarket. When I saw Sir Willard last night, he warned me that you’d try to get me out of the city on the day of Sir Martin’s funeral.’

‘You’ve always liked racing.’

‘I’m engaged in a much more important race of my own at the moment – so are Sir Willard and Henry. That’s why none of us will stray one inch outside the capital.’

‘I think you should reconsider that decision, Jocelyn.’

‘Why?’

‘Your presence at that funeral will cause Araminta pain.’

‘Your absence will surprise her.’

‘I’ve written to offer my condolences.’

‘But what about the many blandishments you sent her in the past – the gifts, the invitations, the
billet-doux
? Won’t she find it strange that a man who professes to love her will neglect her on a day when she needs every ounce of support she can get?’

‘I do not see it that way.’

‘I respect your right to do so, Elkannah. By the same token, you must respect my right to view the situation as I choose. In short,’ said Kidbrooke, pointedly, ‘this conversation is over.’

‘So you
did
have a pact.’

‘A pact?’

‘To ignore my advice and attend the funeral,’ said Prout, sharply. ‘You, Henry and Sir Willard have lined up against me.’

‘We’ve done nothing of the sort.’

‘Yes, you have.’

‘We simply agree with each other.’

‘The three of you came to a formal agreement.’

‘Henry and Sir Willard may have done so,’ said Kidbrooke, ‘but I was not party to it. I’ve argued from the start that it was a case of each man for himself. I’ve not consulted them for a second and I doubt if they consulted each other.’

‘I got the strong impression from Henry that the three of you had a verbal contract and that he was going back on his earlier promise to me.’

‘You were misled.’

‘Do you give me your word?’

‘I’ll happily do so, Elkannah. I can’t speak for the others but there’s been no collusion on my part. I’ve not wavered in my view that Araminta is fair game in her bereavement.’

‘I find that notion shameful.’

‘Nobody is forcing you to accept it.’

‘Henry and Sir Willard seem to have done so.’

‘Then each has acted of his own volition. Why have you suddenly decided to bark at my heels?’ complained Kidbrooke. ‘I had enough of that from Sir Willard. As soon as he saw me yesterday evening, he was yapping away like a dog after a fox.’

‘What had you done to offend him?’

‘I’d seized an advantage that he should have taken.’

‘Advantage?’

‘His brother-in-law, Cuthbert Foxwell, hired a gardener who had formerly been employed by Sir Martin Culthorpe. Having worked for Araminta’s husband, the man had privileged information. I decided to avail myself of it by hiring the gardener myself. When I did so,’ he recalled, ‘Sir Willard didn’t make the slightest protest.’

‘Why was he so angry now?’

‘He had just discovered the link between Araminta and the gardener. When the man worked for his brother-in-law, Sir Willard was quite unaware of that link.’

‘How did he find out?’

‘Henry’s brother told him.’

‘Christopher? Why should he get involved?’

‘He seems to be poking his nose into anything and everything,’ said Kidbrooke. ‘It was he who set that unsightly constable on to me. I hope that Christopher Redmayne comes in person next time. I’ll have the pleasure of telling him how I despise meddlers like him.’

Listening to the recital of events, Jonathan Bale did not realise that his friend had omitted some crucial details. Christopher had deliberately concealed the fact that he and his brother had visited a Molly House. Such places were anathema to Bale and he would have passed on the address of the establishment to a magistrate. All that he was told was that the missing portrait had been in the safe hands of the valet from the start.

‘Why didn’t Emile tell us that?’ he asked.

‘He wanted everyone to believe a theft had taken place.’

‘In doing that, he was misleading an officer of the law. They may do things differently in France, Mr Redmayne, but we take a dim view of that sort of thing in England.’

‘I did make that point to him, Jonathan.’

‘I’d like to do so myself, sir. He wasted our time.’

‘Let’s not criticise him too harshly. His ruse did prevent the portrait from being stolen and I know for a fact that one thief did gain access to the house.’

‘Do you know the man’s name?’

‘Unfortunately, I don’t,’ said Christopher, shielding his brother from arrest. ‘On balance, I feel that Emile’s action had a purpose.’

Christopher did not add that part of that purpose had been to fuel the valet’s interest in Araminta to the point where he actually tried to become her. The constable would have considerable difficulty in understanding why any man should do that.

‘Putting aside the portrait, sir,’ said Bale, ‘I’m more worried by what you’ve just told me about the gardener.’

‘Abel Paskins has disappeared. It was Henry who found that out for us. Nobody at the house knew where Paskins had gone.’

‘So your brother did not speak to Mr Kidbrooke.’

‘He wasn’t there yesterday.’

‘What about today?’

‘Henry has agreed to tackle him on our behalf.’

‘Your brother is being unusually helpful,’ noted Bale. ‘In the past, he has always done his best to hamper any investigation.’

‘I fancy that he’s seen the light at last,’ said Christopher with gentle sarcasm. ‘Father would be delighted.’

Bale was sombre. ‘I’ve been thinking about that key, sir.’

‘What key?’

‘The one that opened the gate to Sir Martin’s garden,’ said the other. ‘Without that, the killer would not have been able to get in and lie in wait for his victim. He must have had a duplicate made.’