He nodded. ‘Well he might be if he knew anything about stamps.’ He was silent for a while, sitting there staring at the black impression of the proof. ‘But no sheets,’ he muttered. ‘I wonder …’ He sat back, toying with his glass. ‘If I’m right, then there must have been sheets of those stamps. I wonder where they are. Somebody must have them.’ He shrugged, closing the album slowly and with a certain reluctance. ‘I think I’d better take this collection along to somebody who knows more about ship stamps than I do. Josh Keegan is the best bet. And if he doesn’t know, he’ll tell me who to go to. I’ve a feeling … I’m not sure, mind you, but I think a stamp rather like that die proof came up for sale at a Robson Lowe auction some years back. Josh may have been at the sale.’ He downed the rest of his drink and got to his feet. ‘I’ve got to go now. Mind if I take the albums with me?’
I hesitated, unwilling to let them go now that I knew he was interested. ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. Obviously he couldn’t give me a valuation on the spot.
‘Good.’ He had noticed my hesitation and smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of them.’ He picked up the albums, holding them out to me. ‘Pop them in a polythene bag, will you? Don’t want to get them wet rowing ashore.’
He had a supper date with friends near Maldon and when he had seated himself carefully in his dinghy he looked up at me, his bright eyes twinkling. ‘I could have valued the collection off the cuff, made you an offer, and, given the girl’s circumstances, she’d probably have accepted. Instead, I’m seeking expert opinion for you. Greater love hath no man.’ He picked up the oars, and as I tossed the painter into the bows, he began to drift away on the tide. ‘I’ll tell Josh to ring you direct if he’s anything of interest to report. Otherwise, I’ll come back to you myself and make an offer for the lot.’
‘You really want it then?’
He nodded, smiling at me like an amiable frog. ‘Yes, I do. First time I’ve ever had a collection in my hands that was made for the purpose of choosing a design. Three or four days and I’ll hope to be back to you with that offer.’
‘Well, see that it’s a fair one,’ I said.
He laughed, back-paddling against the tide, the plastic dinghy so low in the water it looked on the verge of sinking. ‘Suspicious bastard you are. Whatever the business ethics in your world, Roy, stamps are still a gentlemanly occupation.’ And with that he swung the little boat round and headed for the nearest landing pier.
As soon as I was home, I got out the catalogue and looked up Trinidad. There it was, the first Crown Colony stamp listed, a 5c. blue. A note underneath read: The ‘Lady McLeod’ stamps were issued in April, 1847, by David Bryce, owner of the s.s. Lady McLeod, and sold at five cents each for the prepayment of the carriage of letters by his vessel between Port of Spain and San Fernando. Used examples are pen-cancelled or have a corner skimmed off. The value of it unused was given as £6,000, used £2,000.
I sat there staring at it for a long time. Even though the Holland stamp was used, or rather pen-cancelled, and the condition of it not that good, it put the collection in a different class, quite outside my range. To buy it, I’d have to sell most of my carefully acquired GB stamps. Either that or the boat.
I put it out of my mind after that, which wasn’t difficult since I was loaded with all Packer’s work. And on top of that Rowlinson sent me the figures for Munnobungle, asking me for my comments as soon as possible.
It was not until the following Friday that I heard from Tubby, a formal letter that read:
Dear Mr Slingsby,
I have now gone through the whole collection with a view to valuation. Excluding the ‘Lady McLeod’ and the die proofs on the last two pages, the theoretical value is £1,273 based on the latest Stanley Gibbons catalogue. Bearing in mind their condition, my estimate of the actual value is around £500 — at auction they might well reach a little more, equally they might fetch less.
The value of the die proofs is impossible to estimate. A copy of the actual stamp does exist, in deep blue, but it did not go through the post in the normal way. It was apparently on a cover (i.e., envelope) which bore an Australian postage-due stamp. In other words, the Australian postal authorities refused to accept it, regarding it as no more than a private label. This cover was sold at a Robson Lowe auction about two years ago for £220, a high price considering it’s an unknown and so had curiosity value only. Josh was at the sale and recalls that it was bought by a dealer handling European accounts. In the circumstances, I think it fair to value the die proofs at the same figure.
As regards the ‘Lady McLeod’ Trinidad ship stamp, this is more difficult to set a value on. In prime condition the current value of a pen-cancelled example is put at £2,500. What this particular example would fetch at auction is anybody’s guess, but Josh was quite prepared to give £550 for it, so I think £600 would be a fair valuation.
Thus, my valuation for the two albums is £1,320 and, as agreed, there is no charge for this.
I think it would be a great pity to break this collection up and sell the stamps piecemeal. I remain personally interested in it as a curiosity and am prepared to offer £1,500 for the collection as it stands. Perhaps you would convey this offer to Miss Holland. I do not honestly think she will do better than this, and I will keep the albums here in my safe until I hear from you.
No sailing this week-end. I promised to go down for my son’s half-term.
Sincerely,
J. L. SAWYER
I did something then on the spur of the moment that was pretty daft. I wrote to Miss Holland telling her that I was enclosing Commander Sawyer’s letter valuing the stamps and offering for them. And then I added that I was personally interested as a collector and asked if I could drive over and see her as I might be able to offer her slightly more. To this day I don’t know how much I was motivated by my interest in the collection, how much by my desire to see her again, and it was only after the letter had gone that I began to worry about raising the cash. But if Rowlinson did decide to offer me the job in Australia, I would be selling the boat anyway, and that would more than cover it.
Almost a week passed, and no word from Miss Holland, nothing from Rowlinson, though I had sent him an outline of my ideas for halting the losses on his Queensland property. And then, after a deadly dull morning arguing with bureaucrats and tenants over rent increases for a row of tenement houses, I returned to the office to find that Rowlinson’s secretary had phoned to say he would call at my home at 7 p.m. Also, Eric Chandler had been trying to get me. The only business we had with Rose, Walker amp;c Chandler at that moment was The Passage valuation and sale of contents, and when I rang him back to point out that I had sent my rough estimate of the current value of the house the previous week, he said, ‘Yes, of course, and that’s all being dealt with.’ He had a high-pitched East Anglian voice. ‘But now we need her signature, and she’s disappeared. I wondered whether you could help me. You met her, I take it, when you did the valuation?’
‘Yes.’
‘When was that?’
‘About a fortnight ago.’
‘Was she alone?’
‘As far as I know.’
‘I see.’ There was a pause, and I asked him what exactly he had meant, saying she had disappeared.
‘Gone away,’ he said, ‘leaving no address. Most extraordinary. There’s a mortgage on the house, and we’re negotiating with the mortgagors on the basis of your valuation. Obviously she can’t sell the property unless they agree to termination and are satisfied there will be sufficient funds to cover everything as a result of the sale. And now she’s gone. I had written to her twice — there’s no phone there, you see — and when she didn’t reply, I told one of my staff who had to call on a client in Woodbridge yesterday to go on up to Aldeburgh and see her. She didn’t answer the door, and when he enquired of the neighbours, he was told she had left. At least, they had seen her leaving in a taxi with two large suitcases. That was on Saturday, and no forwarding address. He enquired of the neighbours, the local shops, and checked with Aldeburgh Post Office. Milk and paper delivery had been stopped and the bills paid. I thought you might be able to help.’