A Question of Inheritance (21 page)

Hugo hadn’t thought of that. ‘Don’t tell me that gangs have got into art?’

Emerson laughed, a deep rumbling laugh.

‘Wherever there’s money and valuable property, there will be gangs and crooks. It’s a wicked world we live in. Go to Sotheby’s or Christie’s or Morville’s and it all seems very civilised. People in evening dress, all perfectly correct. That’s the public face. There are other parts of the art world that operate very differently. If Oliver was dabbling in those, then he could have got himself into trouble.’

Hugo said, ‘On the other hand I really don’t think any members of art theft rings or any other crooks were going to be in Selchester on Christmas night, particularly when half the country was snowbound.’

‘You do have a point there. I’ll tell you one other thing. I don’t suppose it has anything to do with this, but you should probably know. There was a particular painting that Oliver wanted to trace. No, I don’t think it was anything to do with his dealings on the side. This was a picture that he had a particular interest in. It was a Picasso that had belonged to a member of his family.’

‘You told me about a missing Picasso last time we spoke. So your client was Oliver?’

‘Yes. His painting was last seen in France in nineteen forty-one. I told him that the paintings that disappeared under the Nazi occupation would fill several aircraft hangers, but I added the Picasso to our list and said we’d do our best to find out what we could.’

Hugo said, ‘I don’t pretend to know anything about much about art, but didn’t the Germans go in for burning a lot of decadent artists like Picasso? Isn’t that most likely what would have happened to a painting? Wouldn’t Oliver have known this?’

Emerson said, ‘You’re right to some extent. But there were Germans who had an eye for a good painting, who weren’t quite such zealots for that extraordinary ugly form of art approved of by the Third Reich. So, either because they liked the artist or because they had the sense to see that at some point these works of art would be very valuable, they made it their business to see that instead of being destroyed they were shipped back to Germany.’

‘Including Picassos?’

‘Yes. They sometimes removed paintings from museums, but a lot came from private individuals. Of course, all property belonging to the Jews or anyone with the Jewish connection was forfeit. We’ve actually spent quite a lot of time identifying pictures that have turned up in strange places. But that won’t be why he was at the Castle.’

‘It seems unlikely.’

‘I’m pretty sure the reason he was in Selchester will have been to advise the new Earl about his paintings. You want me to see what I can find out?’

Hugo said, ‘Tactfully. The police will be making inquiries, I don’t want you to tread on their constabulary boots.’

Emerson laughed. ‘I know I wasn’t much good at my job when I was in the Service, but I do remember enough of what I learned to be quite careful how I handle the civil authorities. Who have they got in their sights? Not the new Earl, I trust; that would be a scandal indeed.’

‘I think the chief suspect is a man calling himself Saul Sampson, who’s rented a cottage for the Christmas period. He came up to the Castle on Christmas Day when the family were out and Oliver was alone there except for the housekeeper and a girl. The police can’t get him to say why he was there.’

‘Calling himself Sampson, you say?’

‘His real name is Ingham. You may remember—’

Before Hugo could finish, there was an exclamation from Emerson and the line went dead.

Damn the telephone connection. The weather might have brought lines down but it was infuriating to be cut off like this. Hugo got through to the Hall exchange and asked them to try the number again.

It rang and he got the same woman who had answered the phone in the first place. No, she couldn’t help him. No, Mr Emerson wasn’t there; Mr Emerson had just that minute left the building. ‘In rather a hurry’.

Scene 3

Hugo was setting off for the Hall the next morning when he heard a car coming up the drive. A noisy engine that belonged to a dashing, low-slung Morgan. It drew up in front of the house. Hugo limped over to it and saw to his amazement the bear-like figure of Emerson extracting himself from the driver’s seat.

‘Emerson! What on earth are you doing here?’

Emerson said, ‘I had to come and see you. There are some things that can’t be said on the telephone; these are dangerous times, Hugo, you must know that as well as anyone. Not putting it in a letter either. There’s something fishy going on here and while I naturally associate Her Majesty’s Government and the whole of the Service – a pox on it – with every kind of skulduggery, when skulduggery extends to the art world, I feel it is once again my business.’

Hugo said, ‘I was just setting off for work.’

Emerson said, ‘Blow that. You can be late, don’t tell me the Service has turned into a clock-watching establishment? I left London yesterday to get here, had a puncture on the way and had to find a hotel for the night. Left first thing and I need breakfast.’

Hugo gave into the inevitable. ‘Leave your car here; it won’t come to any harm. Come inside and I’ll see what I can rustle up for you.’

Mrs Partridge was nowhere to be seen, but Georgia and Polly were sitting in the kitchen. They looked up with interest as Emerson came in. Hugo said, ‘This is my sister, Georgia, and Lady Polly Fitzwarin, Lord Selchester’s younger daughter.’

Emerson looked at Polly and said, ‘Lord save us, she’s going to grow up to look exactly like Lady Priscilla Veryan.’ And then his eyes went to Georgia. ‘I last saw you when you were a baby, young lady. You take after your mother.’

Hugo was surprised. ‘When did you meet my mother?’

Emerson said, ‘During the war. Your father gave me a letter to take to England for her. She was extraordinarily civil to me. I landed on her doorstep a bit dishevelled and she let me have a bath and fed me what I feel must have been a fair chunk of rations. Kind woman. Yes, you’ve a great look of her,’ he said benevolently to Georgia.

Polly wasn’t pleased. ‘I’m not in the least bit like my great-aunt Priscilla.’

Emerson responded at once. ‘Yes, you are. Nothing but respect for her ladyship, don’t get me wrong. Before you ask, Hugo, I know Lady Priscilla through Sir Archibald, who consulted me about some paintings, rather nice early Dutch scenes.’

Georgia felt that somebody needed to act as host to this unexpected guest. ‘Why are you in the kitchen?’

‘I want breakfast.’

Georgia said to Polly, ‘We could make him breakfast.’

Emerson sat down at the table. ‘Yes, please do, or if you don’t want to, I can cook it for myself. I’m handy in the kitchen. Since we’re in the country, I'm sure you have eggs and bacon to hand.’

Polly and Georgia were rather pleased to cook him breakfast and, squabbling in a friendly way that warmed Hugo’s heart, they set about what Georgia described as a fry-up. He was longing to know why Emerson was here, but didn’t want to ask in front of the girls.

Georgia said, ‘If you want talk secrets, go ahead. We know how to be discreet, don’t we, Polly?’

Polly said, ‘I'm not too sure. It might be something that you’re much worse off for hearing. Let’s make him breakfast and then clear off upstairs to play skittles. Then they can talk as much as they like.’

Georgia said, ‘I hope you’re on important official business, Mr Emerson. Because Hugo should be at work. I don’t want him to get the sack, as then I’d starve.’

Hugo said, ‘Don’t be absurd, Georgia. Hurry along with that bacon now, it looks to me as though it’s nearly done.’

Between them Polly and Georgia produced an excellent breakfast which they laid with great satisfaction in front of Emerson, before taking themselves, noses in the air, out of the room. As she went past Hugo, Georgia whispered in his ear, ‘I bet this is to do with the murder, and mind you tell me afterwards what it’s about.’

Emerson speared a sausage and grinned. ‘Quite a character, your sister.’

Hugo said, ‘She does have her moments. Do stop eating long enough to tell me why you’re here.’

Emerson was having none of it. He finished his breakfast, polished off the toast that Georgia and Polly had thoughtfully made, and finally, with a look of satisfaction, sat back.

‘Another cup of coffee and then I’m ready to talk. Calm down, Hugo, you’ve become devilish twitchy. That’s what comes of staying on in the Service. Never a day goes by that I don’t thank God I got out of the Service. I don’t know why you’re still there, Hugo, although I can see why you’re no longer in the field.’ He gestured at Hugo’s leg. ‘I assume you didn’t get that falling off a wall.’

‘No.’ Why, having rushed from London, was Emerson being so slow in coming to the reason for his visit?

Emerson finally finished his coffee, put down the cup and stood up. ‘Excellent breakfast. Now I need is to see the pictures which Lady Sonia wants to flog under the counter.’

‘Is that why you’ve come?’

‘It is. And, if I’m right, you’ll find that there’s a connection back to Berlin, back to Orlov.’

‘They’re locked in one of the attics. I don’t know where the key is.’

He hadn’t noticed that Freya was standing just inside the door, and he said, startled, ‘How long have you been here?’

Freya said cheerfully, ‘Don’t worry about me passing any secrets on. I had to sign the Official Secrets Act, the same as you two did. If you want to get into that attic, Sonia has the key, and it so happens that at the moment she and Rupert aren’t here. They’ve gone off in his car. She’s furious about not being allowed to leave the Castle and I wonder if she’s taken off for London. Although she’s probably got too much sense for that, or at least Rupert has. He’ll be anxious about his reputation, being an MP.’

Hugo said, ‘Do you think you can get the key?’

Freya said, ‘It won’t be hanging up with the others. I expect it will be in Sonia’s room. I’ll go up and have a cousinly look round. If I do find it, you’ll have to be quick, because we’ve no idea how long she’s going to be away.’

Scene 4

Emerson and Hugo waited in the Great Hall. Emerson spun round, letting out whistles of delight. ‘Lucky man, to live here, Hugo.’

‘I don’t. Just lodging, and I’ll be moving out any day now.’

Freya came down with the key. She said, ‘I’ll keep an ear open for Rupert’s car. Gus is in the library, poor man. Surrounded by papers to do with the estate. Leo is with him. The girls are up in the gallery, so the coast’s clear.’

Hugo said, ‘I’m not sure where we’re supposed to be going.’

Freya said, ‘I’ll show you, or at least a point in the right direction.’

As she led the way swiftly up and down staircases and along passages, retracing the steps that Sonia and Oliver had taken, Hugo said, ‘If these paintings have been up in the attic since your uncle was alive, how come you never knew about them?’

Freya said, ‘I’ve only been up in the attics once recently, a few weeks back. You know, when I had to find some pictures that were left to his godson.’

She guided them up a final flight of stairs. ‘The door at the end is the one you want. The one painted blue.’

Hugo inserted the key, opened the door and went in. Emerson darted past him and went over to where the pictures lay swathed in their racks. He whipped the covers off one after the other, with care, but with extraordinary energy and enthusiasm. He then looked at the pictures in their cradles letting out little sounds of astonishment and amazement.

Hugo said, ‘Are they what you expected?’

Emerson said, ‘These are remarkable paintings, and I can tell you right now that whoever is their rightful owner, I doubt if it’s any member of the Selchester family.’

‘Lady Sonia said her father bought them. Presumably in good faith.’

‘The Lord knows where he bought them because there’s no reputable dealer in the world who would have dealt with these particular paintings.’ He propped up one of the paintings, which Hugo recognised as a Monet, and stood back to admire it. ‘This belonged to the Roussiers, the bankers. And that Degas there hung in a small private gallery in Toulouse. Its owner was deported to Germany.’

Footsteps sounded on the bare boards of the passage. Two pairs of footsteps – one light, one heavier.

‘Damn,’ Hugo said. ‘Now we’ll have Lady Sonia to deal with, and probably Rupert, too.’

The door opened, and in came Leo and Babs.

Leo said, ‘Freya told me that you were up here and I thought I’d come and have a look at Lady Sonia’s paintings.’ He shook hands with Emerson and said, ‘This is Lady Barbara Fitzwarin.’

Babs said, with an animation she rarely displayed, ‘These pictures have something to do with Oliver’s death, don’t they? I want to see what’s up here.’

Leo had moved over to look at the pictures and he was staring at one that Hugo hadn’t noticed before. It was a small and exquisite picture of the Virgin and child. Leo looked stunned.

Emerson said, ‘That’s unquestionably a van Eyck, but I’m not sure where it’s from.’

‘I can tell you exactly where it’s from,’ Leo said. ‘It’s come from the Abbey at Grosmont, in France. I saw it there in 1937. The Abbey was badly damaged in the war, and certainly such treasures as they didn’t manage to hide disappeared. I’ve been in communication with the present Abbot and he mentioned this painting was missing.’

Hugo said, ‘Another picture that should not have been in Selchester’s possession.’

Babs had gone to look at the Picasso. She stood staring at it, and then she said, in a high voice, quite unlike her usual one, ‘This picture belonged to Oliver’s family.’

Emerson came as stand beside her. ‘He said that his family had owned a magnificent Picasso and this is certainly a fine one, but what makes you think it’s that particular one?’

Babs said, ‘I’m sure of it.’

‘You’d better tell us why, Babs. but not here. Emerson, have you seen enough? Good. Cover the paintings up again. We need to discuss this and I’d rather Sonia didn’t know we’ve been up here.’

As she drew the cover over the Picasso, with a kind of caressing care, Babs said, ‘There’s something not right about all this, and whatever’s wrong, it’s to do with Sonia, isn’t it?’