And Only to Deceive

20

At last the day of my meeting with Mr. Attewater arrived. Our rendezvous, which proved more educational than I could have imagined, began outside the museum, where we sat on a bench for nearly half an hour talking before we went inside. As I listed the items I wanted to look at with him, he immediately recognized each and assured me that he knew their locations in the gallery.

He seemed completely at ease in the British Museum and knew the Greco-Roman collection in great detail. He had an unmistakable admiration for his ancient colleagues and clearly considered himself to be their equal.

"I must admit that you surprised me in Paris, Lady Ashton, when you said that you could see beauty in copies. It is an opinion so unlike that of your husband."

"You told me you did not know him well," I replied, trying not to look down at my companion, who stood several inches shorter than myself.

"No, I did not. Lord Ashton had no interest in my work. As you surely know, he purchased only originals."

"Yes, Mr. Attewater. I am keenly aware of that."

He led me to the first item on my list, the bronze statue Ivy had found so amusing. "I do not work with bronze much. There are a huge number of chemicals one can use to achieve just the right patina on metal, but I prefer the feel of marble. Nonetheless"-he paused as he circled the case wherein the statue rested-"I did produce a copy of this for one of my...er, patrons."

"Mr. Attewater, I remember you said in Paris that your work can be found in some of the world's best museums. Is that true?"

"It is, Lady Ashton."

"Did you make this statue?"

He peered closely at the figure, pulling a magnifying glass out of his coat pocket and examining as best he could the cloak hanging over the figure's arm.

"Yes! That is mine!" he exclaimed.

I admonished him to speak more quietly, hoping that no one else in the gallery had noticed his outburst.

"There is no question about it." He polished the magnifying glass on his waistcoat and beamed proudly as he looked at the statue. "I left a mark on the underside of the cloak. Take a look." He handed me the glass, and I peered at the cloak. Although barely visible, they could be seen: two tiny Greek alphas.

"A.A.," he said, smiling. "My initials."

"Yes, I understand." I nodded slightly.

I ushered him away from the statue, not wanting to draw anyone's attention. As we continued from piece to piece, the reaction was the same. Mr. Attewater recognized all of them as his own work and on many was able to show me his hidden double alphas. I grew more and more depressed as I realized that every artifact currently in my country library was something that belonged in the British Museum. Apollo, it appeared, was not an anomaly.

"Don't you worry," I asked my companion as softly as I could, "that someone at the museum will notice your alphas? Surely the penalty for such an offense is great?"

"Lady Ashton, I assure you I have done nothing wrong. I have been commissioned on numerous occasions to copy pieces from the venerable halls of this museum. As you have seen, I produce them to the best of my abilities and collect my payment. What the purchaser chooses to do with them is none of my concern."

"But surely you knew what was going on." I could not believe that Mr. Attewater was entirely innocent in the matter.

"My art, Lady Ashton, has been largely unappreciated by the public from the time I began to sculpt. After years of trying to succeed on my own, I realized that I could earn enough money to keep my studio by copying antiquities. Is that a crime? I have never received outrageous payment for any of my works. Believe me, were I to sell them as originals, they would command far higher prices. Furthermore, if I were going to attempt to deceive a buyer about the origin of a piece, I obviously would not sign it."

I looked at Mr. Attewater's worn but well-cared-for suit, noted his dignified manner, and found myself believing him. Here stood a man who wanted to be great; if he had money, he would spend it and not wear something so decidedly out-of-date.

"Why would a person come to you instead of using the museum's casting service?"

"They do not offer reproductions of every piece in the museum. Furthermore, I work much more quickly than they do."

"Yet if your clients are, as it seems, replacing original antiquities with your copies, don't you worry that someone in the museum will notice your initials and hold you responsible for the crime?"

"These pieces have been here for years. Their provenances were verified and the objects examined thoroughly before the museum purchased them. No one has a reason to doubt them now. The experts did all their work on the true originals."

"How does one go about copying the originals?"

"All I need are the precise dimensions of an object and a good sketch. I can get that in a relatively short period of time. My patrons would get me into the museum after hours. It's not as difficult as you might think."

"It's a very clever scheme," I admitted, and looked at Mr. Attewater. "Doesn't it bother you that others are profiting from your work when you receive so little?"

"I get enough." We passed a bust of Julius Caesar. "That is not mine," he whispered, "but it is clearly a fake. The dark color of the marble is achieved through liberal application of tobacco juice, and the pits over the surface come from banging on the sculpture with a brush with metal spikes. It works beautifully."

"Amazing," I said, looking at poor Caesar. "But how can you tell it is not authentic?"

"The beauty of a forgery, Lady Ashton, is that there typically is no definitive proof. But here the artist was not an expert." He motioned to the area between Caesar's eye and his hair. "The surface is perfect wherever there is a contour. Everywhere else is pitted to make the marble look aged. I would not have made such a mistake."

"But you do not make sculptures designed to deceive, Mr. Attewater." I raised my eyebrow and smiled at him.

"Touché, Lady Ashton," he replied, bowing slightly to me.

I decided to ask him directly the question that was plaguing me. "Did my husband hire you to make the copies you have shown me?" He did not answer. "Please, you must tell me. I need to know his involvement in this scheme. Did he plan it?"

"I am afraid that I cannot reveal the names of my patrons. I should never work again."

"But you say you are a legitimate artist."

"I am." He began peering at Caesar through his magnifying glass. "But my customers do not always share my scruples." He stood as straight as possible and looked directly at me. "I can, however, ease your mind on one point. I have never done any work for Lord Ashton."

"Thank you, Mr. Attewater." I sighed. "But that does not mean he did not plan this intrigue. It is possible that he had an underling deal with you."

"I had not thought of that," he replied. "However, my buyer is a respected gentleman whom I would not expect to do someone's bidding, so perhaps all Lord Ashton did was buy the stolen originals."

"One hardly knows what to think, but either way it does not look good for Philip," I said. "Why have you told me all this, Mr. Attewater? Don't you fear exposure?"

"I have nothing to fear, Lady Ashton. I have done nothing wrong." He smiled slyly.

"I like you, Mr. Attewater," I said as we continued our stroll through the museum. "I want to commission a work by you."

"I am immensely honored, Lady Ashton. What would you like me to copy?"

"I don't want a copy, Mr. Attewater. I want you to design me an original of your own in the classical Greek style. I like your work and want to see what you can do when not constrained by having to copy something else."

"Do you want it to look ancient?" he asked, his eyes full of light.

"No, do no deliberate damage. I shall not hide the fact that the piece is modern."

"Thank you, Lady Ashton," he said with great dignity. "I shall not disappoint you."

"You're welcome, Mr. Attewater. Perhaps we can get you a more legitimate following of admirers." As I smiled at him, I saw Arthur Palmer rushing past us. "Good day, Mr. Palmer," I called to him. "What brings you to the museum today?"

"Good day, Lady Ashton, Attewater." He nodded briefly at my companion. "I am to meet Arabella and her mother. If you'll excuse me, I am late." He rushed off almost before I could bid him farewell. He had the nervous look I recognized as one of a man about to propose.

"I shall have to call on Arabella tomorrow," I said to no one in particular. "Perhaps I shall have need for your services again, Mr. Attewater, for a wedding gift."

"Your kindness makes me feel that I must confess one indiscretion in my past."

"There is no need to do so, I assure you," I answered.

"Please, follow me." He led me through gallery after gallery until we stopped before a fragment of an Athenian frieze depicting the head of a young man. "Do you like this?"

"It's lovely."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Now he took me to the room that held the Elgin Marbles. "Here." He motioned to an object labeled as Slab IV of the North Frieze of the Parthenon. "Look closely. Is anything familiar?"

"Should the other piece be in this room, too? Is it from the Parthenon? It almost looks as if it belongs with this section," I said.

"You are close to the truth. If you have finished with the museum today, I should very much like to tell you something about these two pieces once we step outside."

"You are very mysterious, Mr. Attewater."

I allowed him to lead me out of the building. He looked around in a manner that was meant to appear casual, but I'm afraid he was not particularly successful. Then he stood as near me as he could without being improper and spoke in a low whisper.

"I sold that first fragment you saw to the museum. It is the only time I have misrepresented my work." He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. "I had been hired to copy all of Slab IV-it was an ambitious plan. Evidently my patron had a client who wished to own the original. Can you imagine the price such a thing would fetch?" He looked around again. "The deal fell through for reasons unknown to me. The order for my copy was canceled."

"This, Mr. Attewater, inspires me to ask a great many questions," I whispered back.

"And I am afraid there are few, if any, I would be willing to answer," he replied nervously. "At any rate, I didn't like my work to go to waste, and I had already nearly finished the head I showed you. I could not bring myself to destroy such a beautiful piece, so I made it appear to be an unrelated fragment of its own. I wish you could have seen it before I damaged it. It was exquisite. But it needed to look old, so I hacked up the nose, cheek, forehead, and shoulders, then restored the nose." He stood up a bit straighter now. "A nice touch, I think, doing the restoration. Gives the thing an air of authenticity."

"Yes, but how did the British Museum come to buy it?"

"Money was very tight for me at the time, and I needed more than the piece would command as a copy. With the assistance of a colleague, I invented a decent provenance for the piece, which I said I acquired in Athens."

"You sold it to the museum yourself?"

"I beg your pardon, Lady Ashton, but could you please try to speak more quietly?"

"Of course," I murmured.

"Yes, I represented myself and completed the transaction with the museum."

"I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Attewater," I said, staring at him closely, pleased that he trusted me enough to share his secret. Of course, he could expose Philip as easily as I could expose him, so I suppose he did not take much of a risk.

"I felt you had the right to know. Do you still wish me to create a new sculpture for you?"

"More than ever." I shook his hand. "I am immensely grateful for all the information you have given me. You have cleared up many questions that were plaguing me."

"I am sorry, Lady Ashton, that the answers can bring you little peace." With a smart bow, the little man took his leave from me. I couldn't help but notice a slight spring in his step as he trotted down Great Russell Street, and I hoped that my patronage might allow him to move away from the sordid business in which he was currently involved.

Do not think, gentle reader, that the treasure trove of information given to me by Mr. Attewater did not leave me deeply unsettled. I hardly knew what to worry about first. The fact that so many pieces in the British Museum were forgeries horrified me. The fact that the originals were sitting in the library at my country estate was even more disturbing. But worst of all, my husband, my darling love, a man whom I had come to admire greatly, was no better than a common sneak thief. If anything, he was worse; greed, not poverty, had driven his actions. I felt tears filling my eyes and decided that walking home would do me more good than sobbing in the back of a cab. As I started toward the street, someone called my name.

"Emily!" Arabella waved at me. I had no desire to speak to anyone but did not want to insult her. I waved back and waited for her, along with Mrs. Dunleigh and Mr. Palmer, to come to me.

"Good day, Mrs. Dunleigh, Arabella. I see you found your party, Mr. Palmer." The usual pleasantries were exchanged, and I hoped for a quick escape.

"Arthur tells us you have already been to the museum," Arabella said. "What a pity! You could have joined us."

"I am on my way home," I replied.

"Where is your carriage?" Mrs. Dunleigh asked.

"Actually, I planned to walk. I'm rather looking forward to the exercise."

"Shocking!" Mrs. Dunleigh cried. "My dear child, you must allow me to send you home in our carriage. Our driver has only just dropped us off and is still at the curb. Berkeley Square must be nearly two miles from here, and it is unseasonably chilly today. One would think we were already in the depths of autumn. I should never forgive myself if you fell ill." I knew she was trying to be polite, and I did not want to insult her, particularly in front of the man she hoped would soon be her son-in-law. Unwillingly I allowed myself to be helped into the carriage for the short ride home.

It started to rain almost immediately, so I was forced to admit that I was lucky not to have walked. Between the cool, damp weather and my troubled state of mind, I was trembling by the time I reached home. Davis met me at the carriage with a large umbrella and led me into the house. Unfortunately, Berkeley Square did not provide the respite for which I longed. As Davis took my hat, he told me that my mother was waiting for me in the drawing room. I did not want to see her and delayed by having Davis tell her I would be in as soon as I finished an urgent letter. I slipped into the library, sat at Philip's desk, and quickly penned the text of a cable to Ivy, begging that she return to London as soon as possible. Before I could ring to have Davis send it for me, my mother burst into the library.

"This, Emily, is unpardonable!" She dropped onto the settee. "I will not be kept waiting while you answer correspondence."

"Mother, please understand that I had no intention of insulting you."

"I have heard quite enough," she said. "Your behavior of late can be described in no way other than extraordinary. I realize that losing your husband so soon after your marriage deeply distressed you, but do not expect to be able to use this indefinitely as an excuse for unsuitable actions."

"I cannot imagine what I have done now that has you so concerned," I said halfheartedly. She had already delivered a particularly scathing lecture after my now infamous dinner party; it was unlikely she would return to a subject to which she had done justice.

"I have been somewhat concerned at the way you and Mr. Andrew Palmer conduct yourselves. But I am a reasonable woman and realize that the standard of behavior to which you young people hold yourselves these days is not as high as one would hope. The Palmers are an excellent family, although, given their lack of fortune, I would have hoped you would set your sights higher. A woman in your position could easily catch a duke."

"Mother, I am in no mood to discuss whatever marriage plans you have in mind for me."

"I assure you, Emily, that your mood is of no consequence whatsoever to me." She continued without drawing breath. "As I was saying, your shocking behavior with Mr. Palmer I can tolerate. I suppose his unorthodox approach to courtship appeals to you."

"Mother," I tried to interrupt.

She silenced me by lifting her hand. "I shall hear nothing from you until I am finished. Now I have learned that Mr. Palmer has, in fact, proposed to you and that you have refused him. Is this true?"

"Yes." I sighed. I had tried to keep my rejection of Andrew as quiet as possible but knew that inevitably my mother would hear of it. In her opinion there are few crimes greater than turning down an offer of marriage, unless, of course, it is done in an attempt to intensify the rejected gentleman's feelings. She knew well that I deplored the very idea of doing such a thing; it was a subject covered thoroughly between us in the early days after my social debut.

"I would like to believe that you refused him because you are expecting a superior offer from another gentleman?" Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. "No, I thought not."

"Is it so terrible to think that I might never marry again?"

"Yes, it is, Emily. It would be a complete waste of everything. You are beautiful, rich, titled. Our family's history can be traced to the earliest days of England. My dear, had you put your mind to it, you could have married royalty. I will always regret that you showed no interest in Prince George." She dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "Well, he certainly would have no interest in a widow."

"I would imagine not," I said flatly. "Could you perhaps come to terms with the idea that I, like our great queen, prefer to remain a widow?"

"The queen has remained in mourning. Your current behavior is proof that you have no such intention."

I would have liked to point out that there were any number of rumors concerning the queen which implied that she was not really in mourning, but I knew that suggesting such a thing would begin an argument that I had no interest in finishing.

"You cannot have it both ways, Emily. Either mourn your husband or find another."

"I do mourn Philip!" I shouted, rather more loudly than I intended. Tears sprang to my eyes. "You have no idea what I suffer. I will not be judged by you or anyone else. My refusal to marry Mr. Palmer should be no one's concern but his and my own."

My mother shook her head slowly and smiled in her most patronizing fashion. "We shall see, Emily. You may enjoy yourself now, but eventually your looks will be gone. If you insist on remaining a widow, you had better think about changing your behavior, or you will find that the only company you attract will be that of the most desperate fortune hunters. No one else in society would be willing to associate with a woman who so openly flaunts her disregard for social customs. Which leads me to another topic: This insistence of yours on pursuing Philip's intellectual work is very odd. There is no role for women in the academic world. I could not imagine where you would get such ideas until I met your friend, Miss Seward."

"Margaret is the daughter of a very respectable family."

"Emily, what Americans consider acceptable is often questionable at best. Miss Seward's influence on you is distressing. She is taking you down a path that can lead to no good. You have been attending lectures, child. Have you lost all sense of decorum?"

"My behavior is not so bad as you suggest, Mother," I snapped. "I have, perhaps, not always done the right thing but in general am above reproach. If you have difficulty understanding my need for an intellectual life, then I am very sorry for you. One would hope that one's own mother might offer support rather than relishing the role of critic."

"Emily, if I am more critical of you than others, it is only to protect you." She sighed and pulled her gloves back on. "It would be for the best if you were to spend the fall with your father and me in Kent. You clearly are floundering on your own. I can give you no more time today, child. Mrs. Dunleigh is expecting me. Her daughter does not share your lack of interest in the married state."

I did not respond to this, nor did I wait until she left to return to my seat at Philip's desk, furious. I would never marry again after having been so completely deceived by Philip. My thoughts turned once more to Mr. Attewater and the museum. Why on earth had Philip done it? If only he were alive, I could have barged into his library and demanded an explanation, knowing quite well he would be unable to offer anything satisfactory. He would have been shocked to hear me shout at him and most likely would have ordered me upstairs until I could control my emotions. I would have refused, of course, and implored him to remember his morals, his values, and to become again the man we both knew him to be. This would move him greatly; he might even break down and confess that he himself was plagued by his actions and did not know what to do. I would have told him that, maybe, I could find it in my heart to forgive him if he were willing to return everything to the museum. He would have thanked me profusely and congratulated himself on finding such a wife. I sighed. Beastly of him to have died before I had the chance to orchestrate a happy ending.

Ivy appeared on my doorstep the next day, earlier than I could have hoped. She was not surprised to hear confirmation of our suspicions; we both knew it was unlikely that there could be any other explanation. We settled into chairs in the library to discuss how we should proceed.

"Are you absolutely certain that Mr. Attewater will give you no further information?" Ivy asked.

"He was very clear on that point," I replied. "I suppose we cannot expect more of him."

"Well, at least we know that Philip did not contact him directly and arrange for the copies to be made. I'm inclined to believe that he heard of the availability of the pieces and snatched them up."

"Perhaps," I said. "But either way Philip did something both illegal and immoral."

"Have you told Margaret yet?"

"I saw her last night and expect her here at any moment."

Ivy paused. "This must be very difficult for you, Emily."

"To put it mildly," I said, and told her about Andrew's proposal and my mother's visit.

"I do not envy you your mother," Ivy said. "Thank goodness you do not have to live in her house. How did you ever manage to survive all those years? Philip clearly deserves our sympathy, if only because he removed you from an unbearable living situation."

"Yes," I said wryly. "Which would put us back to where we were before Philip became interesting."

"Except that you are in love with him now," Ivy said, the slightest hint of a question in her voice.

"Unfortunately so," I admitted.

Margaret arrived, and we all rehashed what we knew, to little result.

"Terrible that it's too early in the day for port." Ivy sighed, glancing at the clock.

"Do you think that Cécile can be of further help to us?" Margaret asked.

"I have already written to her, asking her opinion. In the meantime I thought that perhaps I could do something similar to what she did in Paris: let it be known that I am in the market for black-market antiquities."

"Do you really think that would be a good idea?" Ivy asked.

"It's an excellent idea, Emily!" Margaret cried. "You must let me assist you."

Before I could reply, Davis announced Colin Hargreaves.

Ivy gasped when she saw him. "Has he grown more handsome since Paris, do you think?" she whispered while Margaret smiled.

After a brief exchange of the required pleasantries, Colin turned to me. "Please forgive my frankness, Lady Ashton, but I do not know any other way to broach this delicate subject with you." I closed my eyes, irrationally certain that he had somehow heard about my refusal of Andrew's proposal. I couldn't imagine what he would say to me on such a topic. I was, however, completely incorrect. "I understand that you met with Mr. Aldwin Attewater in the British Museum. Is this true?"

"Yes," I answered, remembering our conversation in Paris concerning Mr. Attewater.

"I hope you do not mind my speaking freely in front of your friends?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Hargreaves. Say what you came to say," I snapped.

"I had hoped that, upon reflection, you would heed the advice I gave you in Paris. I see that is not the case. Suffice it to say, Emily, that some very undesirable parties have noticed your acquaintance with Mr. Attewater. You appear to be seeking some sort of information from him, and I cannot say strongly enough that you should abandon doing so immediately."

"Really, Mr. Hargreaves?" I asked, not looking at him as I spoke. "Why is that?"

"I am not at liberty to speak further on the subject. Believe me when I say I would never want any harm to come to you and would not issue such a warning lightly."

"Good heavens, Mr. Hargreaves!" Ivy exclaimed. "A warning? I cannot imagine what you mean. Emily's interest in the British Museum could not be more innocent. She hired Mr. Attewater to make a statue for her. Where is the harm in that?"

"In theory there should be none," Colin said. "Please, Emily"-he looked into my eyes-"promise me that you will make no further inquiries."

"I will promise no such thing." I rose from my chair. "You have given me no reason to."

"I ask that you trust me as a friend," he replied, his eyes never leaving mine. "It's more important than you can possibly imagine, Emily. Please."

"I shall take the matter under advisement, Mr. Hargreaves. If there is nothing further, my friends and I were in the midst of a rather important discussion."

"I apologize for the interruption." He stopped partway out of the room and came back to me, reaching for my hand. "Emily, if I could tell you more, I would. You must trust me." He kissed my hand and departed.

"What an interesting man," Ivy said.

"More interesting than either of you know." I told them about the glove. "I see no reason at all to trust him."

"When I think of Andrew telling you to stay away from Colin, I get chills down my spine." Ivy shuddered as she spoke. "Do you think Andrew knows anything of this?"

"He may have surmised that something funny was going on. Andrew is very perceptive when it comes to anything that could be remotely related to gossip. Despite his faults, he is very straightforward. Had he any idea of the specifics of this situation, I have no doubt that he would have told me."

"Do you think Colin is

behind the forgeries?" Ivy asked.

"I don't know, but I have every intention of finding out," I said.

3 OCTOBER 1887

GRAND HÔTEL D'ANGLETERRE, ATHENS

Vardakas's collection frankly stunned me. Hardly know what to think and have no intention of writing about it.

Letter from K arrived today. Unfortunately bland, as they usually are, but can expect little else until she knows me better. Agreed to ride on the fox hunt with me-sure to be a capital day. Did not reprimand me for going ahead with plans for safari-said she had no objection to me spending April away, so long as I return to London before the wedding. I will have a most understanding wife.

My Achilles-Alexander project is progressing nicely, although have not written as much as I would have liked. Too distracted, I suppose. This will change once back on Santorini.