Picture Perfect (23 page)

Despite her preparations Annabel was pleased to see that she and her father were among the first to arrive at the preview, it would make her task much easier if she could catalogue each of the guests as they arrived. They were shown into a large room containing a selection of paintings hung rather haphazardly while many more canvasses leant in piles against the walls. Colonel Black tutted. ‘I know this isn’t the exhibition proper,’ he said, ‘but really, the spacing between the pictures hasn’t been thought about at all, look over there for example, two sunsets side by side! Appalling!’

‘Mmn,’ said Annabel, more interested in the stacked pictures. There was a pile of them just to the left of the main entrance, leafing through them would give her a perfect vantage point from which to survey the guests. Casually she wandered over to them and began to pretend to scrutinize the paintings. By the time Jack came into the gallery she had listed thirty or so names in her notebook. He saw her at once, she could tell, but was deep in conversation with Lord Seaforth whom he had wandered in with, and could not break away. Although Jack was the very last person Annabel thought might be the art thief, she listed his name anyway just to have the pleasure of writing it and then a whole crowd of people bustled in and she was glad for the moment that Jack had not distracted her.

‘You take your art very seriously, I see,’ Jack’s soft voice murmured in her ear making her heart turn over and then race. ‘Have you… why are you writing everyone’s names down?’

‘Shh!’ Annabel said indignantly, scribbling down
Lord Kent
.

‘But why?’ Jack asked her, looking totally perplexed. ‘All right, if I stand this side of you you’ll still be able to see the door. But what do you want with the guest list?’

Not wanting to be overheard, Annabel beckoned him closer. ‘I’m surprised that you of all people are asking me that,’ she said a little smugly, forgetting that this elementary piece of detective work was actually Augusta’s idea. ‘I’m compiling a list of suspects, then when a painting is stolen all I will have to do is see who here tonight was present on all the other occasions and I will know who the thief is, or at least I will be able to narrow it down to just a few,’ she added with a touch of scrupulousness.

Jack looked oddly charmed and she thought that meant he was impressed with her plan but then he started to laugh. ‘But my darling Annabel, nothing will be stolen tonight.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ she asked indignantly, even as the endearment flooded her with warmth.

‘Because,’ he said, drawing her notebook out of her unresisting hands, looking at it and then smiling down at her, ‘all the paintings stolen so far have been old masters, everything here is modern, the thief won’t be interested.’

‘Oh,’ said Annabel, slightly deflated, but not willing to admit the redundancy of her task. ‘But as an art lover the thief is still probably here tonight.’

‘What makes you think he’s an art lover?’ Jack asked her.

Annabel looked at him in surprise. ‘Why else would he steal all those paintings?’

‘He won’t be stealing them for himself,’ Jack said and she saw amusement in his eyes but he restrained himself from commenting on her naivety. ‘He’ll be stealing them to sell to collectors, or perhaps the collectors themselves commission him to steal specific paintings, either way the thief certainly loves money, not art.’

‘I still think there may be a theft tonight,’ Annabel argued and Jack’s eyes narrowed.

‘How can you be so sure?’ he asked, turning her words against her and Annabel suddenly realized what her assertion implied.

She shrugged, trying for nonchalance. ‘There’s work by Gainsborough here and look, there’s a Turner painting in the far corner, they’re valuable pictures.’

‘They are,’ Jack conceded, ‘but this is a well lit room, there would be no way for the thief to steal anything here without being seen by everyone.’

‘The thief has outwitted you several times so far,’ the words were out before she could stop them.

‘That is true,’ Jack admitted stiffly, ‘and if I am wrong tonight I would be grateful for the use of your list of suspects. Now, if you will excuse me, there are some people I need to speak with.’

‘I didn’t mean…’ Annabel began, but Jack had already turned away. She wanted to rush after him and tell him she didn’t mean it, but she was sure that would make things worse, after all she had spoken only the truth and that was probably why he minded.

‘Good evening,’ a far less welcome voice said at her shoulder and Annabel jumped in surprise. ‘I’m sorry,’ Dermot Leahey said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘Where did you come from?’ Annabel asked, staring at him dumbfoundedly. He hadn’t been in the hall when she and her father had arrived and she hadn’t seen him come in since; despite talking to Jack she was sure she hadn’t missed anyone’s arrival, yet here he was. ‘Where
did
you come from?’

‘I’ve been admiring some watercolours down the back,’ Mr Leahey waved his hand airily.

‘Really?’ Annabel said suspiciously, ‘Do show me.’

‘Of course,’ Mr Leahey said, giving her his arm which she took with reluctantance. ‘Oh, look, what an exquisite painting!’ He stooped down suddenly, dragging her with him and Annabel only just saved herself from an undignified fall onto the floor, all for the sake of a rather gaudy painting of a bowl of tulips. ‘Now, what else have we here?’ Mr Leahey seemed to be talking more to himself than her as he released her arm and began sifting through canvasses. Annabel stood up, thankfully feeling herself to be forgotten.

‘I’ll just…’ she said, but Mr Leahey clearly wasn’t listening and she was able to retreat to her position by the door.

However everyone who was coming tonight seemed to have arrived and Annabel surveyed the room. She didn’t think she had overlooked anyone, but then she hadn’t thought Mr Leahey was here until he showed up so unexpectedly behind her. Thoughtfully she turned around and something about the wall behind her struck her as odd. Moving closer she saw that obscured behind a large painting of a windmill there was a door, decorated with the same paper and dado rail as the wall, not intended to be hidden as such, but intended to be discreet. Was that were Mr Leahey had come from? Tentatively she pulled on the little handle and to her surprise the door opened easily, it hadn’t even been latched. Beyond was a servants’ corridor and evening light spilled into a room on the opposite side. Annabel slipped through the door and began to explore.

The moonlit room was empty, though looking at the holes and nicks on the walls Annabel was fairly sure it was generally used as a gallery, but at its far end another door, also open, led to a little storeroom. Annabel went in and gasped. Here, neatly stored from hangers, were several paintings of far greater antiquity than the collection being previewed that evening. Leafing through them she found works by da Vinci, Caravaggio and Titian. Jack was wrong, she thought triumphantly, there was definitely something worth stealing here tonight, she would tell him at once. Quickly she retraced her steps back to the corridor but had reached the locked door at its end before finding the exit she sought. She made her way back down in more slowly and then stopped in disbelief, no rectangle of golden lamp light outlined the door she had come through, she hadn’t missed her way back to the hall, the door had been shut.

She felt a moment of pure panic, she was shut away, perhaps with a ruthless art thief and no one even knew she was here, then she pulled herself together, it would be easy to locate the door, the corridor was not very long, and then she could let herself back into the hall. She felt around on the wall and soon came to a small gap, just right for the edge of a door and spidering her fingers down she found the handle exactly where she expected it to be. In relief she grasped it and then a second wave of despair came over her. The handle would not move, the door hadn’t simply been shut, someone had locked it as well.

She felt a scream build up inside her and clapped her hand over her mouth just in time to stifle it, if the thief were at large the last thing she wanted to do was to draw him to her. Instead she crept back the other way along the corridor, it was impossible for there to be no other way out and she was determined to find it. She hadn’t gone very far through the darkened building when she heard footsteps, terrified she pressed herself back against the wall and felt about for a door or any kind of niche to hide in, but there was nothing. The footsteps came closer, then a voice called in the distance and they retreated. Breathless with relief, Annabel forced herself to go on, behind her were nothing but locked doors, if someone was searching they would be sure to find her if she didn’t venture forth.

The only warning she had was a single footstep, then strong arms were thrown around her and a very familiar voice said ‘Got you!’ in tones of great satisfaction. For a moment Annabel struggled, very aware that her captor was much stronger than she was, then a shaft of moonlight fell on the man who held her and she gasped with relief.

‘Jack!’

‘Annabel? You’re not? Have you…’ for a moment he fell back, clearly astonished then he grabbed her hand and tugged her back down the corridor the way she had come. ‘This way, quickly, there isn’t a moment to spare.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked. But Jack shushed her.

‘Not now, I’ll explain later, but for now we have to return you to the preview as quickly as possible.’

‘There’s a door here,’ she said, ‘it leads back to the hall, but it’s locked.’

‘It won’t be for long,’ Jack said grimly. Annabel heard a few metallic clicks and then Jack eased the door open a fraction. ‘Not yet,’ he cautioned, putting his eye to the gap. ‘When no one’s looking… now!’ Annabel found herself being pushed into the hall, but even as she turned to protest at Jack’s pre-emptory treatment the door clicked shut behind her with him on the other side.

On the other side of the door Jack leaned back in shock. Despite the very unsatisfactory answer Annabel had given him to explain why her dress was covered in charcoal at the Cavendish’s ball he hadn’t really believed that she was the thief, but here she had been, trapped behind locked doors, virtually caught red handed. His only hope lay in the possibility that nothing had actually been stolen, he wouldn’t know the answer to that until there had been time for an inventory to be taken. He truly hadn’t expected anything to be stolen tonight, it was only Annabel’s insistence that modern paintings could be just as lucrative as old masters which had made him take any steps towards security and even then it wasn’t until Dermot Leahey had casually mentioned that he’d found a partially opened door in the wall and Lord Seaforth had told him that several store rooms containing the Royal Academy’s collection lay beyond it that he had actively pursued the potential thief, roping in Leahey and Lord Seaforth to help. His dismay on finding Annabel hiding in the dark was immense, he knew he should have detained her until the others arrived, but his one thought had been to return her to the hall as quickly as possible before anyone realized she was missing, if she was behind all the stolen paintings the last thing he wanted was for other people to discover that.

Jack’s thoughts were still in turmoil the next evening when he knocked on the door of Violet Pollard’s cottage. If Annabel was truly a criminal, investigating the circumstances of her disappearance from the Beresford family seemed irrelevant, but pursuing this private matter for Lord Beresford seemed easier than confronting Annabel because then he would have to decide what to do next. He knew already that no matter what he would not be turning her over to the law, but whether he would try to coerce her to give up her activities or help her if she wished to flee he did not know.

Footsteps came to the door and a woman whom Jack judged to be only a few years older than himself, but who appeared to have lost all semblance of youth long ago, opened it and looked up at him warily. ‘Miss Pollard?’ Jack said gently, he always preferred to avoid frightening people if he could.

‘Yes,’ Miss Pollard said. ‘Who wants to know?’

‘My name is Jack Denham,’ Jack said. ‘I was hoping to ask you a few questions about Molly Pollard, this is not an official investigation, I’m here on behalf of a friend.’

‘I suppose you’d better come in,’ Miss Pollard said, but she seemed reassured.

‘Can you tell me anything about the time when Molly was working for the Beresford family?’ Jack asked, deciding to come straight to the point.

Miss Pollard sniffed. ‘I was just a child at the time you understand,’ she said, ‘but even I could see that butler was trouble.’

Butler?’ Jack said, surprised, this wasn’t what he had expected to hear.

‘Rollings was his name,’ Miss Pollard said, she stared at the fireplace gloomily for a moment. ‘Molly was very taken with him and look where it got her.’

‘Where did it get her?’ Jack asked, Violet Pollard seemed quite pleased with this opportunity to talk.

‘If he wasn’t in gaol when she was dismissed!’ Miss Pollard said. ‘Locked up, that very morning, after all his fancy talk about marrying Molly he wasn’t there just when she needed him the most.’ So Rollings couldn’t possibly have abducted Annabel since he’d been in custody at the time of her disappearance Jack thought, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow he had been involved.