And Only to Deceive

15

Several days later the restorer recommended to me by Lord Palmer delivered my bust of Apollo, beautifully repaired, along with a note. Apparently, because the artisan who completed the work determined that the piece was beyond a doubt a fourth-century-B.C. original, he felt the need to suggest that I take better care of it.

My heart raced as I reread the note. My mind kept going back to the comment Arthur Palmer had made to Arabella in the Roman gallery that any original, including those in museums, could be obtained for a price. Everyone agreed that Philip's integrity was of the highest. Why, then, did he have in his possession a piece that clearly belonged in the museum? I flung myself onto the settee.

Davis, whose entrance I had not noticed, cleared his throat. "Mrs. Brandon, madam." Ivy, stunning as always in a fashionable walking dress, followed him almost immediately, and I embraced her when she came into the room.

"I don't know when I've been so happy to see anyone, Ivy."

"Goodness! I shall have to call more often," my friend exclaimed. "You look a trifle pale, Emily. Are you unwell?"

"I hardly know how to answer that question," I said, my gaze resting on Apollo's perfect face staring at me from a table across the room. I recounted the story to Ivy, still unsure what to make of it.

"So it seems that I am in possession of the original bust, which is supposed to be in the British Museum."

"And the one in the museum is a copy? How could that be?"

"Lord Palmer told me he has heard stories of a ring of forgers rumored to work in London."

"Surely the keepers at the museum would notice the differences between the original and a forgery?"

"I don't think they would have any reason to question a piece after initially acquiring it."

"But how did Philip get the original? He must have believed he was buying a reproduction."

"That, Ivy, is precisely the point that is causing me much anxiety. Lord Palmer insists that Philip would never buy a reproduction. He was adamant in his belief."

"That's not so difficult. The piece came on the market, Philip determined it to be genuine, and bought it. Obviously he did not know it was supposed to be in the British Museum."

"But doesn't that seem odd? It's a striking piece, and, given the amount of time he spent in the Greco-Roman galleries, it seems unlikely that he had never seen it."

"Yes, I agree he most certainly had seen it. But think, Emily, how much there is in the British Museum. A person could never claim complete familiarity with even one collection. Philip probably thought his bust of Apollo similar to the one in the museum but not identical."

"To find two such busts attributable to Praxiteles himself is unthinkable. I've read everything I can about the artist, Ivy. Only one other of his original works has survived. Virtually everything that we know about him comes from Roman copies and ancient texts. An authentic Praxiteles is a treasure. Philip must have known that it belonged in the museum."

"You're not suggesting that he dealt knowingly with these forgers?"

"I hardly know what I'm suggesting." We sat silently for several moments. "I think we must consider the facts before us. I have the original Apollo that Praxiteles made. The one in the British Museum must be a very good forgery."

"Are you absolutely certain that yours is the original? Could the restorer be wrong?"

"I don't think so. He gives his reasoning in his note and says that he showed the piece to several others with whom he works. They unanimously agreed that it is authentic. Lord Palmer would not have recommended them if they were not competent, so I have no reason to doubt their conclusions."

"Is it even possible to copy something so well?"

"It certainly is. Did I ever tell you about a fascinating character Monsieur Pontiero introduced to me in Paris? A Mr. Attewater, whose career is copying antiquities. He was quite confident that his work is virtually indistinguishable from the originals."

"Does Mr. Attewater live in London?"

"He does."

"Perhaps he could go to the museum and look at their Apollo, then let us know if it is in fact a copy? If it is, we could alert the keeper."

"I'm not sure that I want to do that, Ivy."

"Why not?"

"We still do not know Philip's role in this. How did he come to have something that should be in the museum? Given what little we know, it appears that at best he purchased something of dubious provenance, and for a man of his character to have done such a thing would be inconceivable."

"Please forgive me for saying this, Emily. I know that you have grown very fond of Philip over the past few months, but what do we really know of him?"

"That is my concern, Ivy. I know from his diary that he did have strong feelings for me, and the portrait by Renoir confirms his romantic nature. But when it comes to matters of character, what firsthand information do we have?"

"Well..." Ivy looked around the room as she thought. "We may have no direct confirmation of excellent character, but I think you would have known if he were really bad, don't you? He treated you well during your marriage."

"He did, but I imagine that many a great criminal mind has the capacity to love a woman."

"Emily! Are you calling him a criminal?"

"No! I'm only saying that his treatment of me cannot be relied on to serve as an ultimate substantiation of his true nature. At any rate, we both know that I did not pay much attention to Philip while we were married. I learned almost nothing about him."

"What has made you believe now that he was a good man?"

"Primarily stories told to me by Lord Palmer and Colin Hargreaves. Andrew, too. However, Colin has been asking me some very strange questions about Philip's business transactions, specifically those concerning purchases of antiquities. I've just been through Philip's papers and found nothing that refers to them."

"Could Colin be collaborating with the forgers?"

"I'd sooner believe that of Colin than of Philip if it weren't for the physical evidence of Apollo. We haven't caught Colin with a stolen artifact."

"But Colin could still be involved. Why else would he be so interested in Philip's purchases? Did your husband have any other antiquities in the house?"

"Not to speak of. There is a vase in the library, but other than that, nothing," I said, shaking my head.

"A bit surprising for someone who was so interested in the subject, isn't it?"

"Apparently he kept his collection at Ashton Hall, where I shall have to visit as soon as possible. Perhaps I can find some documentation there. And I think I shall write to Cécile. Monsieur Fournier told me that Philip was looking for Apollo in Paris. Perhaps Cécile could determine if he did indeed purchase it there and from whom. There must be some simple explanation for the whole thing."

"I hope so, Emily. It would be rather shocking to have to completely reform your opinion of Philip after all the trouble you've gone to falling in love with him."

"You are rather understating things, my dear," I said. "Do you think Robert could spare you in order that you might accompany me to the country?"

"I'm certain he could be convinced." She giggled. "Men can so easily be persuaded."

Much to my surprise, it was Andrew, not Robert, who attempted to undermine our plans. He protested vehemently after receiving a note I sent canceling a trip to the theater.

"I cannot understand why you must rush off to the country, Emily. It makes no sense."

"Why does it have to make sense?" I asked. I felt that telling Andrew of my suspicions would be disloyal to Philip, and I had no intention of explaining my motives. "I haven't seen the house, Ivy will return to her own estate before long, and we have decided to have a bit of an adventure."

"Nonsense." He snorted. "I don't like the two of you traveling unaccompanied."

"We aren't. Miss Seward is coming with us."

"Margaret Seward is hardly the type of woman who is likely to put my mind at ease on any subject."

"Andrew, do not force me to become irritated with you," I said severely, wishing that I had not allowed Meg to lace me so tightly. I could hardly draw breath as I spoke. "Going to visit a house in which I, in a sense, live is hardly dangerous."

"How can you suggest that you live there when you have just admitted to never having seen it?"

"You know very well what I mean. I want to see the estate, and I want to go with my friends. Don't be difficult. We can go the theater when I return."

"I shall miss you," he said, reverting to his usual mode of charm.

"I shall be back in two days." I smiled.

"Before you go," he started. "My father is still waiting for those bloody papers of Philip's. May I come back tomorrow and look for them?"

"I don't see why not. I'll tell Davis to expect you."

5 JULY 1887

BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON

Can hardly wait to depart for Greece, although things here better than expected.

After days spent agonizing over how best to present my suit, spoke to Lord Bromley at the Turf Club yesterday regarding his daughter. At the end of my rather elegant speech, the old man laughed heartily, got me a drink, and said that it was unlikely I could find a father in England who would not gladly relinquish his daughter to me. Delighted to offer me K's hand and assures me entire family would welcome our marriage. Went to Grosvenor Square today-overjoyed to report that my proposal has been accepted. Paris himself would envy me my bride...