Fitzgerald and what I had learned of him, and also about the magical painted box.
Brewster went thoughtful as I described it. “Sounds like one by van Hoogstraten.”
“Pardon?”
“Dutchman from far back. Painted pictures of wine goblets and lemons, that sort of thing, and these boxes with the peepholes. Wrote a book about the tricks of the perspective. Something with a long name, all in Dutch.”
I listened in mild surprise. Though Brewster appeared much of the time to be an illiterate ruffian, he was anything but. He could read perfectly well, and he’d learned much about art, rare books, and sculpture, mostly, I admit, by stealing them. He also had acquaintances who moved stolen art and others who forged it.
“It was most fascinating. Was that sort of thing well-known in its day?”
Brewster shrugged. “Could have been. But I do know those boxes are rare now and worth a powerful lot of money.”
“Are they?” I rested my hand on my walking stick as we rolled north to Curzon Street and around the corner to South Audley. “Then how did a hard-up Dutchman on St. Maarten get hold of one?”
“Maybe it was in his family, and when his money began to go he had to flog it. If Mr. Fitzgerald promised to find you another, he don’t know what he’s saying. Or maybe he does, and is trying to put you off the scent, like.”
“He might be correct that art dealers could have them lying about in their back rooms and not realize what they are.”
“True enough, but the real conno-sooers would ferret them out. If you asked His Nibs to find one for you, for instance, he’d charge every farthing its worth, plus more for the trouble.”
“Ah.” I deflated. There was a difference between obtaining a novelty for a lark and investing a fortune in rare artwork. I doubted my wife would thank me for spending Peter’s inheritance—if I could touch a penny—on a pretty painted box.
“Fitzgerald’s family must be more wealthy than he lets on,” I said after a moment. “If these are as precious as you say.”
“Or he got it for a bargain. Mayhap the bloke what sold it to him didn’t understand the worth of it or was so desperate for cash he’d let it go for any price.”
“All those things could be true.” We neared the house. “Perhaps that is why the customs agent took the box from Fitzgerald for a time. To make certain it wasn’t stolen or smuggled. Or that he hadn’t smuggled anything else inside it.”
“Very like. The customs blokes can’t keep their hands off anything. His Nibs has to pay a large sum every time to make sure his goods don’t get held up. Corruption is everywhere.” Brewster shook his head at the sad state of the world.
We parted, me to stagger inside the front door, Brewster to go below to his bed in the kitchen. He’d insisted on remaining to protect me until I left for Oxfordshire.
Barnstable, who’d helped me upstairs more than once since I’d known him, assisted me to my bedchamber, and Bartholomew undressed me for bed. My partial inebriation coupled with the large meal made me clumsy and sleepy.
I was stretched gratefully in bed with a warmed nightshirt over my bare body, closing my sandy eyes, when the mattress sagged beside me. A soft weight landed against me, and Donata rested her head on my shoulder.
“Mmph,” was my enlightened greeting. I ran a tired hand over her hair.
“Mr. Fitzgerald had fine brandy?” she asked in a low voice.
“He did. Plus he gave us wine and a many-coursed supper.”
“Rather tedious food at White’s, I have heard.”
“On the contrary, I found it quite edible.”
“Mmm.” Her response told me my tastes were not quite as trained as she’d like. “Lady Aline knew Mr. Fitzgerald in her salad days. I asked her about him. He was apparently much the rakehell when he was younger. Cornered her in a few ballrooms, and kissed her, much to her delight. He was the gentlemen mothers warned their daughters about. Very exciting.”
I had difficulty reconciling the portly and loud Mr. Fitzgerald with a dashing roué kissing the debutante Lady Aline in a shielded corner.
“Why ladies prefer gentlemen who lie, gamble, and womanize, I have no idea,” I mumbled. “Why do you not like them staid and stodgy?”
“We believe we can reform them, of course.” Donata snuggled closer. “That ours will be the love that changes them forever. We ladies are fond of this idea and nurture it.”
“A foolish one.”