Picture Perfect (19 page)

They hadn’t gone more than a few steps from the room when Jack accosted them. He looked, Annabel thought, particularly alert, his movements were quick and his eyes were piercing and he bristled with energy. ‘What is it?’ Annabel asked at once, sure something had happened.

‘You were right,’ Jack said, with a note of respect in his voice, ‘it was the da Vinci, it’s been stolen.’

Annabel gasped and felt as if a glass of very cold water had been poured straight through her, while she had thought the da Vinci would fit the thief’s criteria of desirability and portability it was horrible to think that the masterpiece she had picked out had been stolen, almost as if she had told the thief what to do. ‘Shouldn’t you be trying to catch the culprit?’ she demanded.

‘I am,’ Jack said enigmatically, ‘which is why I sadly must curtail this conversation, I trust you will excuse me, Miss Black.’ He bent and took her hand to kiss and Annabel felt a warm shiver of anticipation which completely eclipsed the coldness she had experienced on hearing his news, but his lips never touched her hand. Jack straightened up, eyes narrowed and quite a different expression on her face which seemed to mingle both suspicion and dread. ‘Miss Black, you appear to have charcoal on your dress. How did it get there?’

Annabel felt her heart start to beat at double time, she couldn’t possible tell him she had got her dress dirty while hiding in a fireplace after eavesdropping on his conversation with Justine, but what could she say? Fortunately Madeline came to the rescue.

‘A gentleman never asks a lady so impertinent a question,’ she said coolly. Annabel could see that Jack was not put off, but it had given her some time to think.

‘Needs must,’ said Jack, clearly trying to wither Madeline with a cold stare and Annabel found herself trying not to giggle, she had never seen her cousin cowed by anything let alone a single look.

‘I took a turn around the gardens,’ she improvised. Let him wonder who had accompanied her, it would do him good to think she had a beau whose existence he was unaware of. ‘I must have brushed against a mossy tree trunk or some such thing. Are you satisfied?’ The look Jack gave her told her he was not at all satisfied with her answer but also that he realized that further questioning was useless.

‘May I suggest that you do not engage in such folly at future parties, Miss Black,’ he said, ‘and now if you will excuse me?’ He turned on his heel and stalked away.

‘I think talk of your evening ramble made him even more suspicious,’ Madeline observed. Annabel agreed, Jack had certainly thought she had been up to something, but to what could he possibly object? He had declared no interest in her, but besides that, what was so heinous about having soot on her dress? She tossed her head.

‘Let him be suspicious,’ she said. ‘He’s not my keeper, if he objects to the state of my dress I shall simply dance with those who are too well bred to comment on it for the rest of the evening.

Jack stalked away, his mind in turmoil, Annabel couldn’t have stolen the da Vinci, surely, not when she had gone to such lengths to point it out to him as the thief’s most likely target. She knew he was investigating the thefts, only the most foolish of thieves would show off to the man set on catching him or her, or the most brazen. He found himself wishing he had told her about the charcoal and chalk mixture on the frame of the painting after all, then he’d know she hadn’t touched the picture, but perhaps then it would still be hanging in its modest spot in the shadow of the pillar. Jack shook his head in frustration, still unwilling to believe that his Annabel could be the art thief, but he had scanned most people in the ballroom before seeking her out and no one else had the chalky, ashy tell tale signs about their person. He could only hope his assistants had located some on someone he had missed.

But what if Annabel had stolen the painting? She was angry with him over his investigation into her disappearance, perhaps, knowing his role in trying to catch the art thief, she had decided to move the da Vinci to thwart him, and pointing it out to him beforehand was just part of needling him further. He found himself very much hoping this was the case, even while he was aware that he was flimsily trying to make excuses for her. It suddenly occurred to him that if he wanted to exonerate her he could try to verify her story of a stroll in the grounds. Deftly he made his way through the crowd to the open doors at the far side of the ballroom which led onto a balcony, a quick perusal told him all he needed to know and he felt his heart sink even as he made a more thorough search of its perimeter to confirm his initial impression. The balcony extended from the first floor of the building and there were no steps down to the garden. He knew there were no other possibilities available to guests who wished to take the night air, Annabel had not gone for a walk in the grounds, she had lied to him.

Chapter 10

Jack still felt as if he were in a state of shock the next morning when he once more knocked on the front door of Coram’s Foundling Hospital. Annabel couldn’t possibly be the art thief, she was far too kind, gentle and sincere; but she was also brave, as he had seen the day Justine’s horse had bolted, she knew a lot about art and she was resourceful. He remembered how swiftly she had acted when Lady Beresford had fainted at the sight of her long lost daughter and he had to admit to himself that Annabel had all the qualities needed by a successful art thief, furthermore she had been present for each of the thefts and worst of all her clothing had borne distinctive traces of charcoal and there had been a little in her hair as well, just as there would have been if she had lifted a painting down from the hall and bumped the frame against her head in doing so - at least that would have been the effect if that frame had been surreptitiously coated in charcoal and chalk.

The door to Coram’s was opened abruptly and Jack struggled to erase the grim look he knew was on his face and replace it with a more benign expression. ‘Good morning,’ he said, pleased that he sounded perfectly calm and collected. ‘I have an appointment with Mrs Chandler whom I believe is the matron here.’

He was shown into a sparsely furnished and extremely tidy office where he bowed to a woman in her forties, dressed as plainly as her surroundings and wearing a starched cap folded with such perfect precision that Jack was momentarily distracted, wondering if the rather forbidding woman before him had prepared the cap herself or if she had all of her maids present one each morning from which she would choose the best. ‘Mr Denham,’ said Mrs Chandler and Jack was surprised that she sounded rather warmer than her appearance had led him to believe. ‘You expressed an interest in a child we had here briefly sixteen years ago.’ When she put it like that his enquiry sounded futile, but Jack had never been deterred by such considerations.

‘That is right,’ he said, ‘a little girl whom I believe was found washed up in the river and was subsequently adopted by Mr and Mrs Thomas Black.’

‘I remember her,’ Mrs Chandler said surprising him. ‘Anna we called her, though Mrs Black thought the child named herself as Annabel.’

‘You must have an excellent memory,’ Jack said courteously, something about her told him that although Mrs Chandler had easily recalled Annabel she might not be willing to tell him much more. He was right.

‘I never forget a little one,’ Mrs Chandler said, fixing him with rather penetrating blue eyes. ‘They are my children and their welfare is my concern both while they are here and after they leave my care. What business have you got asking after Annabel Black?’

‘I work for the Home Office,’ Jack said, deciding not to tell her that this was about as far from an official investigation as it was possible to get. ‘I am interested in the circumstances in which the child was brought to Coram’s. The Home Office recognises the invaluable work you do here and on their behalf I would like to make a donation to the hospital if that would be acceptable to you.’ He didn’t miss the slight widening of Mrs Chandler’s eyes when he mentioned money and despite her attempt at professional detachment in her reply he knew she would co-operate.

‘The trustees of Coram’s Foundling Hospital always appreciate donations. I cannot, of course, tell you anything about the child after she left our care, but I think it would not be inappropriate to tell you what I know of her arrival, although it isn’t much.’

‘Whatever you can tell me would be of help,’ Jack said, although privately he viewed this as one of his lesser leads. Mrs Chandler gestured for him to sit down and she continued.

‘Let me see, it was September 1802,’ something inside Jack jolted hard, Annabel had been lost in August that year, the Beresfords had been quite clear about that. Where had she been for the missing month? He listened even more closely than before. ‘She was well dressed in white with lots of handwork, but of course she was soaked, so whether she had been clean and cared for before she was found it was impossible to tell, the fine clothes might have been her own or they might have been cast offs from a wealthy family and I was inclined to believe the latter.’

‘Why?’ Jack asked, intrigued.

‘She was a thin little thing and she had a cold albeit the weather was still warm.’

‘Couldn’t she have caught a chill from falling in the river?’ Jack asked.

‘She could have,’ Mrs Chandler admitted, ‘but I had a feeling - do you have children, Mr Denham?’

‘No, not yet,’ Jack was startled, both by her question and the unexpected wording of his own reply, implying he was newly married.

‘When you do you’ll know what I mean,’ Mrs Chandler nodded wisely, ‘a cold sets in, takes hold and runs its course. A doctor can’t tell you how far through a cold a child is, but a mother can.’

‘I see,’ Jack said, he didn’t, but he was prepared to take Mrs Chandler’s word for it.

‘She hadn’t been well cared for,’ Mrs Chandler said firmly, ‘though she thrived during the short time she was here.’

‘Did the clothes have any distinguishing features?’ Jack asked.

Mrs Chandler snorted, ‘No family crests or embroidered initials if that’s what you’re getting at, and she had nothing else with her, mind you the boy who brought her in looked a shifty lot, if she had had anything of value it wouldn’t have got past him.’

‘Boy?’ Jack asked, surprised. ‘I thought she was brought in by a fisherman.’

Mrs Chandler shook her head, ‘He could have been a fisher boy I suppose, but he didn’t have the build for it, he was just a wee thing himself, quite worn out with carrying a baby all the way from the river to here.’

Jack leaned forward; this could be a crucial piece of information. ‘Did he give his name?’ he asked.

Mrs Chandler paused and frowned. ‘I couldn’t say,’ she said, ‘but the hospital keeps a register, it might be in there.’ She went over to a tall cupboard, opened the door and without hesitation laid her hands on a log book and drew it out. ‘Here we are, 1802, September the twelfth, girl child of around two years brought in by a young lad, gave his name as Albert.’ She closed the book, ‘that’s all it says. Had she not been adopted she would probably be known today as Anna Albert for want of a better name.’

It was implicit in what she had said, but Jack felt himself bound to ask. ‘Albert gave no surname?’ Mrs Chandler shook her head kindly and remained standing, Jack felt that the interview was at a close.

‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ he said and slipped his hand into his pocket. ‘Please accept this for the hospital.’ Again Mrs Chandler’s eyes lit up in anticipation of the money, but she was far too well bred to give any other sign of how much it was needed.

‘Thank you, Mr Denham,’ she said, ‘please convey my appreciation to the Home Office, I am sure they will understand that I am too busy to write.’ She had seen right through him Jack realized with what he hoped was well concealed chagrin, still she had given him more than he had hoped for, though how he was going to find one boy called Albert in the whole of London he did not know.

‘
It won’t be terribly exciting,’ Justine had said, ‘Vauxhall Gardens are a bit passé, but we may meet some friends there, mama and papa like to go there at least once every season to remind them of their younger days, the music can be a bit predictable, but with you there I won’t be dull, so do say you’ll come.’ It wasn’t the most enticing invitation Annabel had ever received but she had been to the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens before with her parents for daytime concerts and when she was younger she had begged them to take her at night so she could see the fireworks after the performance, so despite feeling that Justine’s motives for asking her were not all they could have been she had readily accepted.

The sun was just setting when the party arrived at the pleasure gardens. ‘I think we’ll set up just here,’ Lady Beresford said, surveying a small cluster of chairs and wafting her hand regally at them. To Annabel’s eyes it appeared that the Beresfords had brought a whole entourage of servants who proceeded to lay out the supper picnic and then melted obligingly into the background. ‘Now I’m sure I saw you two girls waving to some friends earlier, you may go off on your own if you wish as long as you keep together.’ Annabel felt a little surge of pleasure at the thought of the unchaperoned freedom Lady Beresford was offering and glancing at Justine saw it mirrored in her twin’s eyes, maybe they weren’t so different after all.