"What on earth does one do in a room like this?" I asked.
"If I may, Lady Ashton?" Mrs. Henley said, hesitating.
"Please go ahead."
"The gentlemen liked to come in here with their port and cigars after dinner and exchange hunting stories while they examined the animals."
"There's one occasion on which I would gladly join the ladies in the drawing room," I said, smiling. "I think we shall return to Miss Seward now. Thank you for the tour, Mrs. Henley. The house is spectacular, and you clearly run it well. I'm glad to know that it is in such capable hands." The elderly housekeeper beamed the entire way back to the library.
That evening, after a light dinner, we retired to the library to examine the contents of Philip's crates. My heart sank as I entered the room, the long tables now filled with antiquities. Ivy, who appeared to enjoy playing detective very much, procured paper and pen from a desk and began to record details of each of the pieces. Margaret, equally excited, helped her phrase her descriptions accurately. My mood, however, plummeted quickly. Mixed with the feeling of despair at what my husband might have done was a growing sense of jealousy at Ivy's own happy marriage. I pushed the emotion away, putting myself to work at the task at hand.
There were twenty-seven pieces in all, ranging from small cameos to larger vases and sculptures. The biggest, a marble statue depicting the god Pan, stood nearly as tall as my shoulder. At first glance nothing seemed particularly familiar to me, but then I approached the table farthest from me; on it rested something I would never mistake, the Judgment of Paris vase from the British Museum. I covered my mouth with my hand and sank onto a nearby chair.
1 AUGUST 1887
BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON
Am packed and ready to depart for Greece tomorrow. Saw K this afternoon-she was very quiet. Dare I flatter myself by thinking that this is because she is sorry to see me go?
Have begun research on a comparative study of Achilles and Alexander the Great (added two more boxes of books to my luggage as a result). Two extraordinary lives-albeit one mythological. I wonder what Alexander might have accomplished had he not died in Babylon? Could he have sustained his blazing success over a longer lifetime?
"Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best..."
17
Now that the sun had set, the room seemed to have grown gloomy, although perhaps the chamber itself was less to fault for my perceptions than was my own humor. Ivy and Margaret, facing the other way, had not noticed my distress, and I didn't have any desire to draw their attention to it. I could no longer avoid the thought that Philip had almost certainly done something illegal; confirmation would come as soon as I could have someone analyze the vase. I remembered Mr. Murray telling me how difficult it had been for Philip to give it up to the museum. I hoped that Philip had commissioned an excellent copy for himself but feared that I would learn only too soon that he had kept the authentic one.
I searched my mind for any memory of my husband that could remotely relate to the matter at hand and returned in thought to a day in Amsterdam. It was the second week of our wedding trip; having finished Lady Audley's Secret, I searched to no avail for an English bookstore from which I could purchase another novel. Finally I happened upon a bookstall that had a ragged secondhand copy of Pride and Prejudice, which I promptly bought. Philip, engaged in business of some kind, had not accompanied me. Back at the hotel, I showed him my purchase and settled in for a nice read. The next morning at breakfast, he presented me with a beautifully wrapped parcel containing a first edition of the book.
"It is always preferable to have the genuine article, Lady Ashton," he had said with a smile.
The sound of Ivy's voice brought me back to the present.
"What shall I call this, Emily?" she asked. "Perhaps 'Bronze Statue of Man Forgetting Pants'?" She giggled.
"Really, Ivy! I'm shocked," I said, laughing with her. "He's doing the best he can with his cape. He has a rather fine figure, doesn't he? Curly hair like the great Alexander." I looked more closely and moaned. "I've seen this before; it's in the British Museum."
"Are you certain?" Margaret asked.
"Fairly certain. And that vase," I said, pointing toward the Judgment of Paris. "I know without a doubt that Philip donated the original to the museum."
"I don't know that we have any reason to doubt him, Emily," Ivy said, lowering herself onto a settee. "Of course, the presence of Apollo in your house is troubling, but it does not mean that all of these pieces have been illegally obtained. Maybe he did buy copies."
"Or maybe he stole the originals."
Ivy glared at Margaret as she spoke.
"The more I consider the possibility, the more likely I find it," I said, ringing the bell for Emory. "Nonetheless, I will attempt to withhold complete desperation until we can have someone look at these pieces or their counterparts in the museum. I am afraid, however, that when we look, we shall find the twins of each of them there."
"How will you determine which are the originals? Will you take all this back to London?"
"No, I think they should remain here. I'll have Emory box them up and keep them safely out of sight." I looked at Ivy and raised an eyebrow. "Would you like some port?"
"Absolutely," Margaret replied instead. "The situation clearly calls for port."
"Emily! You wouldn't dare! Not after your unfortunate dinner party!"
"No one is here to report our behavior, Ivy." Emory, who responded to my call, showed no sign of shock at my request. Good training enabled him to give the appearance of a man who thought nothing of a young lady's requesting his master's finest vintage port, although when he returned with it, I thought I detected a slight sheen on his brow, as if he were sweating on this cool evening. I watched as Ivy sipped from her glass and exclaimed with delight.
"Why do they force sherry on us instead of this?" she demanded. "It's dreadfully unfair."
"My sentiments exactly, which is why I intend to remove all sherry from my cellar and replace it with whatever port Berry Bros. & Rudd recommends to me. Cécile drinks nothing but champagne. Perhaps port should be my signature."
"Champagne is far less shocking, and I myself have seen Cécile drink wine, tea, and, for that matter, sherry," Ivy retorted.
"Perhaps we should ceremoniously dump out all the sherry from your cellar," Margaret suggested.
"This is dreadful of you, Emily. Robert will never let me drink the stuff. I'd rather that I never knew how much I liked it."
"We shall have to work on social reform slowly, my dear, one husband at a time," I said, smiling.
"Well, don't start with Robert. He'd think me a disgrace."
"I suppose that is what he considers me?" I asked.
"No, like everyone else, he thinks you are lost without Philip."
"I take offense at that, Ivy," Margaret said. "I do not think Emily is in the least lost without her husband."
"I didn't mean us, Margaret," Ivy replied, trying to sound polite. "But the topic brings to mind a conversation I had with Robert this morning, before we left. He saw Andrew at his club yesterday and tells me that the man could speak of nothing but you."
"I find that hard to believe," I said, sipping my port.
"I'm not particularly fond of the image of him sitting around at some men's club talking about you," Margaret said, pulling a book down from its shelf.
"I think he's quite in love with you, Emily. Robert thinks his intentions are serious."