A Death in Norfolk

Chapter Three

"What the devil?" My voice rose above the noise of the demolition. Two of the men looked up, saw me, and went back to work. The others paid no attention.

The pugilist who'd led me inside was large, a little taller than my six or so feet, and I put him at least eighteen stone. He'd once held me back when I'd made to lunge across Denis's desk, so I knew he was incredibly strong.

"Sir," the man said, giving me his hard stare. "What did the brigadier take away with him?"

Not the question I'd expected. "Take away with him?"

"You helped Brigadier Easton get away to the Continent. What did he take with him when he went?"

No anger, no outrage that I'd thwarted his master. A simple question in an even tone. "Very little," I said. "A change of shirt and a few necessities."

"How large a bundle did it make?" the man asked. "These necessities?"

I measured off about a foot by a foot with my hands. "That large."

"You're sure he had nothing else?"

"Quite sure. He got into a boat with barely enough room for the fisherman and his nets. The brigadier did not have time to pack a trunk nor the room to take it with him. You can be certain that by now, Mr. Denis knows exactly what boat Easton boarded and where he disembarked."

The lackey shook his head. "Mr. Denis don't know he's gone, not yet."

I stopped in surprise. "Why are you here, then, if he doesn't know?"

The man looked uneasy. I'd seen him look so once before, during the affair at the Sudbury School, when he'd offered up information he'd kept to himself, not realizing it was important. Under Denis's stare, this big, mean-looking man had wilted.

"We came last night, as instructed. I was to visit Brigadier Easton and bring back what he took from Mr. Denis. But when we got here, the brigadier had gone off, and there's no sign of the stuff. If you took it, sir, best give it back. Mr. Denis, he likes you, and he might go easier on you if you 'fess up right away."

Took what? "I am afraid you have me at a loss, Mr… I don't believe I've ever learned your name."

"Cooper, sir. Martin Cooper. I know you didn't take the things for yourself, sir. You're not that kind. But you might have done to help the brigadier. It's misguided, sir. The man is a thieving bastard."

Now, I was completely in a fog. "I assure you, Cooper, I have no idea to what things you refer. I sent Easton away, I admit. I had no wish to see the man receive what Denis sent you to do to him. I took him to a boat and got him away. That is all. I did not help Easton pack or take anything from this house. He never told me his business with Denis-there was not time."

Cooper regarded me with skepticism. "That so, sir? You did not make him tell you? You're an inquiring sort of man, I've noticed. "

"True, but this time, I did not have a chance." It had been more important to get Easton away, and quickly. "You look worried, Cooper. What do you think Denis will do when he discovers that I spirited Easton out of the way? You are not to blame for the actions of the impetuous Captain Lacey."

He rubbed his forehead. "It's not so much Easton flying the coop, sir. It's the things. Mr. Denis will want them back, and I can't put my hands on them."

"Now you have stirred my curiosity. What sorts of things?"

"Paintings, sir. From the Netherlands, mostly. A few from the Italian states and from Russia, even."

I began to understand. "The brigadier kept these painting for Mr. Denis?"

"Brought them back to England for him, with no one the wiser. The brigadier likes to travel."

"Ah." So, Brigadier Easton had smuggled stolen artwork into the country for James Denis. The brigadier, well respected and with many connections, might not be questioned about the bits and pieces he brought back from the Continent.

I recalled the picture I'd often seen in Denis's house, that of a young girl standing by a window in a pool of sunlight, the painting small, quiet, and serene. I wondered if Easton had obtained that for him as well.

"And the brigadier decided it might be lucrative if he held on to one or two of these?" I asked.

"More than one or two. A bucketful, more like. Claimed he had to leave the last load behind in Amsterdam, as they were too difficult to move, but Mr. Denis figured Easton had them here."

Mr. Denis was rarely wrong. No wonder the brigadier had looked so terrified. Denis had a long reach-only a fool would try to steal from him.

Not that I hadn't gone against Denis's orders myself in this instance. I'd been sent to frighten the brigadier so that he'd give up the paintings to Denis. Instead, I'd gotten him away, leaving Cooper unable to put his hands on either Easton or the artwork.

"I am sorry," I said. I truly was. Denis would vent his wrath not only on me, but on Cooper. "I had no idea about the paintings, or I would have made Easton tell me about them before he went." Whether I would have passed such knowledge to Denis was another matter.

"As you can see, I'm in an awkward patch," Cooper said.

"I do understand. The least I can do is help you look."

I did not need to ask him to describe the paintings Easton had stolen. I'd know them when I saw them. The artwork on Easton's walls were original watercolors of the house and grounds, likely done by Easton's wife, daughter, or a local fledgling artist. Any painting Denis acquired would be old, famous, and painted by a master.

I went upstairs, past two men taking out the paneling on the staircase, and to Easton's study. The room looked much the same as when I'd left it last night, Cooper's men not having reached it with their sledgehammers.

The room was long and narrow, with Easton's desk in the exact center of the carpet. The windows did not let in much light-though the rain of yesterday had abated, the sun was hidden by a thick bank of clouds.

I found spills in a jar on the mantelpiece and lit candles about the room. The painting above the fireplace was a rather dull one of the house surrounded by the flat green of Norfolk. Again, if not painted by Easton's wife or daughter, probably done by a local lad wanting to sell his services.

A good place to hide a painting was behind another painting. I took down the picture of the house, found a paperknife in the drawer, and cut the painting out of the frame.

I found nothing behind it but wood to hold the canvas in place. I searched every inch of wood, frame, and canvas, but concluded there was nothing else there. I laid the picture aside and started on the next one.

The room had five paintings, but each frame held only the picture that had originally graced it. The tops of all the frames were thick with dust, which told me they hadn't been disturbed in a long while and that Easton's maids were less than diligent. I doubted that a mote of dust would be allowed to linger in one of Lady Breckenridge's houses.

I set the paintings aside and started looking behind furniture. The furniture was better dusted, but even so, I found nothing.

After a thorough search of every visible place, I resorted to what Denis's men were doing. I started pulling up the carpets. Easton's study had three carpets-a large woolen one with an oriental design on it, on which the desk sat, and two smaller, much finer ones on either end of the long room. The smaller ones had come from the Near East, woven in a tent among hot desert sands.

None of the rugs concealed paintings or loose floorboards under which paintings could be hidden.

I finished in the study and returned to the hall. I took down a painting there, laid it facedown on a table, and carefully cut it out of the frame. One of the men tearing up the paneling dropped his tools and yanked down another painting-a shaky watercolor of the sea at Blakeney Point. Denis's man plunged a knife straight through the painting and ripped it from its frame.

"Have some respect," I snapped.

Cooper came up the stairs. "No time, Captain. Have you found anything?"

I shook my head. "The study looks empty of fine artwork, but I did not rip out the paneling."

Cooper snapped his fingers at the second man on the stairs and pointed to the study door. The second man shouldered his sledgehammer and trudged up the stairs and into the study. A few seconds later came a thud and the splintering of wood.

"They could be anywhere," I said. "Rolled up and sewn under a chair or sofa, flattened between boards in the ceiling, inside a window seat, folded behind books-although I hope he did not fold any priceless masterpieces."

"If the paintings are in this house, sir, we'll find them," Cooper said.

I had no doubt he would. "They may not be in the house at all," I said. "Easton might not have risked bringing them here."

"That is true." Cooper's eyes glinted. "I thought of that, sir. That's why I sent a couple of men to look over your house."

I stared at him. " My house? What the devil for?"

"It's reasonable, sir. The house is empty, no one to bother it. You haven't been there in a donkey's age-it's been shut up since your dad's death. No one goes there, now."

Lady Breckenridge would be going there this afternoon. Not for several hours yet, but what if she grew impatient, or annoyed at Lady Southwick, and decided to make the journey early?

I put down the paperknife and headed down the stairs without a word to Cooper.

The man followed me. "I'll just go with you, sir."

He would whether I liked it or not. I gave him a grim nod. "Fine, but hurry."

An excited shout stopped me from charging out of the house. Cooper brushed past me on the way to the dining room, and found one of the pugilists pulling a rolled canvas from behind a few ripped-out boards of paneling.

"Give that to me." Cooper snatched the canvas from the man's hands and unrolled the large thing across the dining room table. He went carefully, I was happy to see, understanding the consequences of damaging Denis's loot.

All the men had stopped working and came crowding in to see. An incredible painting spread itself before us. Colors glowed against a background that brightened from sable on the left to a golden light on the right that surrounded two rather muscular angels. A group of round-cheeked women faced the angels with expressions of astonishment, their gowns vibrant red, lavender, and blue.

I'd seen, in my travels, copies of paintings of the great Rubens, enough of them to realize that he'd painted this one himself.

"Good God," I said. " This was thrust behind the paneling?"

"Keep hunting," Cooper said to the other men. "We need the rest."

I touched the paint that a Flemish genius had stroked on two hundred years before. "Amazing." This should be hanging in the drawing room of a king-and maybe once had been. "How did Brigadier Easton get hold of something like this? And why would Denis trust him with it?"

"Couldn't say," Cooper said. "Are you staying or going? Sir."

"Going," I said.

It hurt to look upon that beautiful painting and leave it here with Denis's men. They'd roll it up and cart it off to him so that he could sell it to a rich banker who didn't mind buying stolen goods. War-wrecked Europe was an open market to James Denis and others like him, who stole from the weak and sold the booty to the very rich. Rubens was dead and gone, and all the people who'd owned this painting were probably dead and gone as well.

Cooper still insisted on accompanying me. The other men must be quite trustworthy if they could be left in a house with one and possibly more priceless pieces of art.

I rode the horse I'd borrowed from Lady Southwick's stables. Cooper didn't like horses and didn't ride. He walked along beside me and insisted I pace him. I did, because I wanted to keep an eye on him as much as he wanted to keep one on me.

The rain had finished, and wind had sprung up to send away the mist and open the sky. As a lad, I'd loved the enormous skies arching over the farmland that rolled to miles of marshes and gray sea. This was the land of my childhood, where I'd played among the tall marsh grass and hidden in fishing boats so I could go out to sea with the men. The fishermen had taught me to fish, and I'd brought the spoils home to our cook, who was careful not to tell my father where she'd obtained them.

I'd roamed fearlessly, brought home when I strayed too far by farmers, villagers, fishermen, or the publican at Parson's Point. I'd found many ways to elude the nannies, tutors, horse masters, or whatever teacher of the moment my father saw fit to employ. None stayed long, and he'd always try to cheat them out of their fee.

It was in this land that I'd learned the lure of the fairer sex, the first in the form of a barmaid in Blakeney the summer I'd been fifteen. She'd been older than me-sixteen-and I'd thought her the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen.

I'd reveled in the conquest until I returned to school at Michaelmas, to later learn that said young woman was quite loose with her favors. Ours would hardly be the love of legend. She'd married at eighteen and gone to Suffolk with her husband, and was there now for all I knew.

Cooper said nothing on the road, a man with a habit of silence. I who never liked talking for the sake of it started to find him restful.

We went through the gate to the weed-choked drive. Cooper glanced about askance as he climbed over bracken on the way to the house. A cart stood in front of it, the horse let loose to graze as he liked. I dismounted, removed my horse's saddle and bridle, and let it join the carthorse.

I heard the sound of pounding before I entered the front door. No one was in the main hall, but the banging went on below us. I opened a door at the back of the house and descended to the kitchens and servants' quarters, where I found two men tearing out the walls.

They looked up when I came clattering down, saw that it was only the captain, and returned to smashing. Cooper came down behind me.

"Anything?" he shouted.

"Not yet," one of the men said.

"This paneling is fifty years old, and intact," I said over the hammering. "It's doubtful anything will be behind it."

Cooper shrugged. "No stone unturned, sir."

I ought to have been far more upset to see them bashing away at my ancestral home. However, the memories I had of this house were far from pleasant, and it was a wreck in any case. The best memories were of this kitchen, in fact. The cook would secretly feed the ravenous appetite of a growing youth when my father had thought a little starving would make me more obedient.

I surveyed the wreckage for a time then said, "Pull out all the paneling, every bit of it. We'll take it up to the stable yard and build a bonfire. Then you can start on the upstairs."

The men looked at me in surprise. Cooper nodded at them, and they turned back to the task with more gusto.

I picked up an axe one of the men had laid aside. Cooper kept a keen eye on me as I approached a wall they hadn't yet touched. I raised my arms over my head and let the axe slam into the wall.

The white-painted wood splintered. I hacked at the paneling until it began to come away from the solid stone that had sat on this spot for more than two hundred years.

I drew a breath, wiped my brow, shucked my coat, and raised the axe again. I moved to the next patch of paneling and struck another heavy blow.

There was release in the destruction, a sort of joy. I pounded at the walls again and again, until sweat ran down my face, and I was laughing.

Lady Breckenridge did not arrive until late afternoon. She reached the house twenty minutes before the appointed time, which was the only indication of her curiosity. She arrived in a luxurious carriage-Grenville's-and Grenville came with her.

One of the men had moved up to the entrance hall, and he shouted to me that I had visitors. I came upstairs and went outside in my shirtsleeves, too hot to resume my coat. I left the axe behind.

"Good heavens," Lady Breckenridge said, looking at me.

Grenville, out of habit, raised his quizzing glass and ran his gaze over me, but he looked slightly envious. Someone like Grenville could not roll up his sleeves, open his collar, and do a bit of honest toil without the entire world commenting on it.

Lady Breckenridge lifted her skirts and strolled past me and inside, as unafraid as I thought she'd be. My first wife had been dreadfully timid-though I came to learn that she always managed to have her own way despite that. My second wife, it appeared, would not be bothered by timidity.

"You there," she demanded of Cooper's man. "What are you doing?"

I was inside a second later with Grenville behind me. Cooper's man lowered his sledgehammer and regarded Lady Breckenridge uncertainly.

I answered for him. "They're tearing everything out. The wood is worm eaten anyway."

"I can see that, but if you go at it like a madman, you'll ruin the wall behind it." Lady Breckenridge pointed upward, and spoke to the man with the sledgehammer. "Break the panels at the joints and keep the beams intact. If they prove faulty we'll replace them, one at a time. That's good stone behind it." Lady Breckenridge slapped her palm against the wall, as though she patted horseflesh. "If you destroy all the beams at the same time, my good man, you'll bring the entire house down on top of us."

She turned away without waiting for his response. Denis's man stared at her a moment, then returned to his task, breaking away the paneling as she'd instructed.

"Mr. Grenville, it might be time for those chairs," she said. "Gabriel, since you have absolutely nowhere to sit in this house, I had Grenville bring some camp furniture. It's dreadfully damp in here, but I assume we'll conclude our business shortly. Now, what did you wish to show me?"

Grenville departed out the door to whistle at Matthias and Bartholomew, who were waiting at the coach. As they started unloading, I beckoned to Donata.

"This way," I said, and led her up the stairs to my mother's sitting room. Cooper's men had not worked their way this far yet, and I did not intend to let them in there.

"I wanted to show you this," I said. I pointed at the pale dress lying across the chaise where I'd found it. "And ask you what you made of it."