A Question of Inheritance (13 page)

Georgia pushed Freya out of bed.

She put on her dressing gown, ran a quick comb through her hair, thrust her feet into her slippers and rummaged in the draw for a pair of woolly socks. ‘Where are your slippers, Georgia?’ She handed her the woolly socks. ‘At least put these on.’

Georgia sat on the edge of the bed and pulled them on. She wiggled her toes. ‘These are nice. I left my slippers somewhere. They’ll turn up, they always do. Meanwhile, these will do nicely. Thank you.’

Hugo had lit the fire in the library, firmly chasing Mrs Partridge away when she came in with a basket of logs. ‘I’ll take those; you’ve enough to do today without worrying about the fires. My uncle and I will see to them.’

Leo wished Freya a happy Christmas and kissed her on the cheek.

Freya said, ‘Is it just us?’

Hugo said, ‘Gus and the girls aren’t up yet. They didn’t get in until half past one; I heard them come in. So I thought we’d go ahead.’

Georgia, pleased, said, ‘Good. Just us, just family.’

Freya looked at the three Hawksworths. Yes, they were like family. Georgia handed her a lumpy worsted sock. ‘It isn’t really a stocking. Mrs P found it for us. I wanted to give Mrs P a stocking, but she wasn’t having any of it. The minute she knew what I was up to she said I wasn’t on account to think of a stocking for her.’ She imitated Mrs Partridge’s indignant tones to perfection: ‘“I can’t be doing with that kind of thing on Christmas morning. I never could, and I’m not going to start now.” Bit Scroogish and bah humbug, but I don’t think she meant it like that. Anyhow, Hugo’s got her a lovely present. He’s bought her a new handbag.’

Freya said, ‘I know. A very handsome one, and I got her a scarf and gloves to match.’

Georgia was diving into her stocking with cries of pleasure. Hugo watched her, a faint smile on his lips. ‘Don’t think of the past,’ Freya whispered to him as Georgia unwrapped a pencil. ‘She’s happy now, and that’s what matters.’

Chapter Nine

Scene 1

Sonia had informed Gus and the Hawksworths, with no more than a nod in Freya’s direction, that they would follow the old Castle custom on Christmas Day. ‘A decent breakfast, and then a cold lunch. Tea at Veryan House for those invited, and opening Christmas presents round the tree before dinner.’

Gus had no objections to this plan. Georgia, a rebellious glint in her eyes, said, ‘I usually open my presents in the morning.’

Sonia gave her a cool look. ‘Really? It’s not of the slightest interest to me what you usually do. Since you and your brother are still at the Castle, you’ll follow our ways.’

‘Our ways?’ Georgia muttered to Magnus the cat. ‘Our ways, nothing.’

Gus, having given each of his daughters a present to start the day, thought that he should spend some time in the morning with Oliver. He felt sorry for him, since he was obviously so distressed at not being able to get back to London.

‘How were you intending to spend Christmas? Are your family in London?’

‘I don’t really have any family. My parents . . . My parents are both dead and I never had any brothers or sisters.’ Oliver’s voice was unemotional. ‘I had planned to spend Christmas with friends. Still, it can’t be helped, and, to be honest, I don’t care much about Christmas. Shall we start in the South Drawing Room? You’ve seen the paintings in there, but perhaps you don’t know what they are. There’s a fine Reynolds and a Gainsborough. And the boar hunt tapestry, of course.’

Gus was amused by the change in Oliver when he talked about art. He no longer seemed an ill-at-ease young man, but an expert, speaking with authority. Gus was impressed by his enthusiasm and knowledge. Although he worked for an auction house, and obviously money and value was always at the back of his mind, he came to life as he pointed out details and delights of each painting.

Gus said, ‘I wonder if I’ll ever get used to all this. It’s like living in a museum; so many works of art, so many beautiful things.’

‘Of course, the best items of the collection, the really important pieces, are on loan. They couldn’t have stayed here – the insurance would be impossible. When it was obvious that it was going to be just Miss Wryton living here, with the housekeeper and that handyman, the trustees arranged for all the major works to go to various public galleries.’ He paused, gazing up at a serene Constable landscape. ‘It’s none of my business, although obviously I do have an idea of what the valuations are, but I assume you’ll be planning to give quite a few of the most valuable items to the nation. To be set against death duties.’

‘That’s what the lawyers and accountants say I should do.’

‘Your predecessor – your father – the late Lord Selchester was very good about loaning pictures for exhibitions and the national collections. So some of them haven’t been back here for years. You’ll find you have to deal with a lot of requests for that kind of thing.’

In addition to all the other duties that would fall on his head? His inheritance was beginning to seem a poisoned chalice.

‘You’ll need to call in advisers if you want to know more about all the rest of the collection,’ Oliver said. ‘A lot of it is outside my area of expertise. I only have a superficial knowledge of the ceramics and the silver and so on. And then there are the tapestries. They’re famous, and again very valuable, but since they were woven for the Castle and haven’t been moved since they were first hung, I doubt if you’d want to dispose of them. Lady Sonia was planning to sell them to an American collector but in my opinion, it would be a shame for them to go.’

They were standing before a magnificent tapestry depicting an elegant Renaissance landscape. Gus said, ‘It would be rather like taking down the walls and selling them. Besides, I like the classical themes.’

‘And there are the Bellini bronze medals. They were acquired by your great-grandfather. Apparently in a slightly dubious way: a payment for a gambling debt. A lucky turn of the cards, as they’re worth a lot of money. No, I can’t show them to you. Apparently, Lord Selchester didn’t care for bronzes, so they’ve been on display at the Victoria and Albert for years.’

They walked on, and Oliver said, slightly hesitant, ‘Of course, although the inventory was thoroughly done, it might turn out that there are items that were for one reason or another never included.’

‘Why would that be?’

‘They could have been overlooked, stored away in a cellar or an attic or even an outhouse. In a place this size, with so many treasures . . . If that were to be the case, and you were thinking of disposing of any such items . . . Privately, you understand, not in the auction rooms, then I might be able to help you.’

‘Help me?’

‘Dispose of them. Find you a buyer. I do know people who are always on the lookout for something special. For their own collections.’

It had taken a few minutes for Gus to understand what Oliver was hinting at. He frowned. ‘The idea being that I could pocket the proceeds?’

‘There would be the usual commission, of course.’

‘And your employers allow this?’

Oliver gave a deprecating laugh. ‘Let’s say they would turn a blind eye. It’s quite usual; tax rates are so high that many clients are anxious to do what they can to make the most of their assets.’

‘If I come across any such items, I will add them to the inventory, Mr Seynton. And if your firm is lax on such matters, I doubt if I’ll be using their services for anything I do need to send to an auction house. I believe I’ve seen everything I want to. Thank you.’

He turned to go, and didn’t see the look of anger on Oliver’s reddening face.

Scene 2

Sonia came in at the far end of the room and said, ‘Gus, Babs was looking for you. And if you’ve finished with Oliver, I want to pick his brains about something.’

There was something of Lady Priscilla in Sonia’s ruthless removal of Oliver, but Gus, still overwhelmed by his new responsibilities and the decisions he would have to make, was glad to get away from the Selchester collections and from Oliver.

Once Gus had gone, Sonia became even more brisk. She produced a key and waved it under Oliver’s nose. ‘There are these other paintings I want you to look at. The ones you haven’t seen before. And this is as good a time as any.’

‘Exactly what are these other paintings, Sonia? Not those Russian ones that were left to Selchester’s godson, surely? I thought those were removed and given to him a while ago. The trustees weren’t too happy about that.’

‘Never mind those, they weren’t worth making a fuss over,’ Sonia said. ‘I’m going to show you something much more interesting. No, not that way. We’re going up, not down.’ She led him into a part of the house that Oliver was unfamiliar with, along several passages, up some stairs and then up another flight of much plainer stairs.

‘Are we going up into the attics?’ Oliver asked.

Sonia was impatient. ‘Do stop asking questions and just come along. We don’t necessarily have a lot of time. And this is a good opportunity, since there’s no one about.’

They were now walking along a narrow passage with a slanted ceiling on one side and small oval windows on the other. Oliver reckoned they must be above the central courtyard. Peering through one of the windows, he could see lead flashings and crenellations.

This had been one of Sonia’s favourite parts of the castle when she was a child. It was where she’d hide from her nurse or from her mother, and it also brought back other childhood memories of games. Of running feet and laughter and voices. All gone now; the Castle was silent and cold and it felt as though no other footsteps but theirs had sounded here for years.

They went past some closed doors, but she didn’t pause. She was heading for the door at the end of the passage. She fitted the key in the lock, turned it and pushed open the door.

Oliver was looking distinctly uneasy. ‘Sonia, what are these pictures? Who do they really belong to?’

Sonia said, ‘They belong to me, I said they did. Don’t worry about it. I told Gus about them; he knows that some of my possessions are stowed away here. None of these paintings are recorded anywhere on the inventory. They were never included in the insurance or anything. It was something private between my father and me.’

Oliver was still doubtful. ‘Questionable ownership? That makes handling them risky.’

Sonia said, ‘Don’t get all stuffy with me, Oliver. Selchester told me, when he acquired his paintings and showed them to me, after the war, that if ever I needed any advice about artwork or if there was anything I needed to sell without it being too much in the public eye you were the man to go to. He told me quite a lot about you, so don’t you think he’d want you to help me over this?’

Oliver blanched. ‘Is that a threat? You shouldn’t speak like that, you could ruin my career.’

She gave a very direct look. ‘It’s true though, isn’t it? The pay you get from the auctioneers is hardly going to keep you in the style of life to which you’ve become accustomed. Besides, I know all about you from other people. The Ancasters, for instance, and the Latimers. They all had paintings they needed to dispose of discreetly, no fuss about them going abroad or that kind of thing. No trail for the beastly tax people to follow.’

Oliver said stiffly, ‘I may have done some private deals, but those people were fully entitled to dispose of the items in question. They’d been in their family’s possession for many years.’

‘Well, these pictures have been in my possession since Selchester died. Oh, do get a move on just have a look at them, Oliver, and tell me what I can do with them.’

Reluctantly but quite curious by now, Oliver went over and removed the wrapping from the first of the paintings. His eyes widened. ‘This is a Monet.’

Sonia said, ‘Yes, that’s what Selchester said it was. I think there are a couple of other Impressionists and then there’s a picture of the Virgin, which he really liked. I asked him why he didn’t hang it in the Victorian chapel, but he said he hadn’t made up his mind what to do with these paintings. After all, there isn’t actually much room here in the Castle to hang more paintings, not without taking some others down.’

Oliver was still uncertain if these paintings really had been a gift from Lord Selchester to Sonia, but in the end he thought it probably didn’t matter. If the new Earl was happy about Sonia’s claim to the paintings, it might be best not to enquire further. Because if the Impressionists were genuine, his commission would be substantial.

He took out the pair of spectacles he needed to wear for close work, polished them with his silk handkerchief and propped them on his nose. Then he said to Sonia, ‘With paintings of this quality, prospective buyers will want to know what their provenance is.’

Sonia said, ‘What do you mean, provenance?’

‘Buyers want to know the history of a painting and how it came into the possession of the person selling it. There’s no problem with the provenance of all the rest of Selchester’s collection. They’ll have been in the family for generations, or were purchased by various members of the family. All the paperwork is there; I had to check that after I’d done the inventory. Receipts, valuations all that kind of thing. So when a painting is up for sale the buyer is quite sure that the title is proper and what the history of the painting is.’

Sonia said, ‘Surely there are people who aren’t too fussy about that kind of thing.’

Oliver hesitated, and then asked, ‘Do you know how and where Selchester acquired these paintings?’

‘I think Rupert put him on to them. He said that art was a good investment and there was a lot of good stuff floating around after the war. He was sure that some of these paintings would increase in value.’

‘So he bought them. Do you have any paperwork relating to the purchases?’

Sonia said, ‘No, and it won’t matter, for all your talk about provenance. I know if you put them into the salerooms it might be difficult, and I dare say that way, with all the right bits of paper I’d get more money for them. But that way the government would know about it and I’d have to pay a thumping tax bill on it. No, thank you. Are you going to help me or aren’t you?’

Oliver had gone over to the other side of the room and he pulled out the painting of the Virgin. He whistled. ‘That’s remarkably fine.’ Then he drew the cloth off the larger painting stacked behind it.

He stood stock-still, the colour draining from his face.

Sonia came over and stood beside him. ‘Quite different from the rest isn’t it? It’s a Picasso. I can’t be doing with all that cubist stuff, but there are people who like it.’

Oliver said in a strangled voice, ‘Yes, there are.’ Then he swung round on Sonia, a look of such pale ferocity on his face that she took a step back. ‘Where did Selchester get this? Tell me!’

‘Don’t try and bully me, Oliver. I told you I don’t know. Selchester is dead, so he can’t tell you, and no one else will.’

Oliver said, ‘He didn’t just go out and buy them in the flea market in Paris, did he? Somewhere there must be a record of how Selchester came by these paintings.’

And with that he flung himself out of the room, living an indignant Sonia irritably drawing the covers back over the paintings.

She went out, locking the door carefully behind her. She’d get hold of Oliver later and talk some sense into him. Rupert was standing at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Oliver just shot past me looking like he had seen a ghost and had the hounds of hell after him. What have you been doing to upset him?’

Sonia shrugged. ‘Oh he’s being a complete bore. I can’t think what made him lose his rag like that. He’s always so meek. When he saw one of the paintings, a Picasso, he went all peculiar. Perhaps he isn’t feeling well.’

Scene 3

Fuelled by too much bad whisky, Saul Sampson’s festering rage came to a head on that Christmas afternoon. He put on warm jersey under his overcoat; he felt the cold acutely after years in a hot climate. He knew it wasn’t a sensible time to go to the Castle and confront Lord Selchester, but his resentment was so strong that he couldn’t wait any longer.

The cold walk up the long drive did nothing to calm his temper. When he reached the archway, he didn’t go up to the front door; he knew from what he had overheard in the town that the back door, which led off the stable yard and into the kitchen quarters, would almost certainly be open.