shoulder, she demanded, “How can that be?”
“Wait. There’s more to tell.” She quieted, and he continued, “I know beyond question that the work is Hendall’s, and I also know that this copy was created in only the last five years, because Hendall has only been painting forgeries over that time. The nails used to resecure the painting in the frame suggest the copy was put into the frame about three years ago. On top of that, Hendall only creates forgeries with the original before him—he’s a copyist. He needs the original to copy directly from.”
He leaned forward and looked at her face. She was frowning, trying to make sense of what he was telling her.
“So”—he looked once again at the painting—“the situation we’re facing is that you did have the original Albertinelli, but about three years ago, someone entered the house and spirited the Albertinelli away. Hendall would have needed at least three weeks, most likely more, to create this copy, so the frame would have hung empty—or there would have been an empty space on the parlor wall—for at least four weeks, possibly longer.”
He paused, then slowly turned her to face him. He met her eyes; they were full of confusion and burgeoning anxiety. “The first question I have is this: Would it have been possible for the painting to vanish like that, for four or more weeks, without anyone noticing?”
When she blinked at him, he went on, “This house is so large, I can imagine that if a thief took the painting out of the frame, rolled it up, and carried it under his jacket, he might have been able to take the painting out of the house without anyone noticing. But the space on the wall would have been there for weeks.”
Ellie stared into Godfrey’s face. She could barely breathe. After several dizzying moments, she managed to get out, “A forgery!”
Her knees quaked.
Godfrey caught her about her waist and guided her back to the chair she’d last seen him sitting in; it was placed to afford an excellent view of the canvas. She sank down and, utterly baffled, stared at the painting—one she would have sworn was the same one she’d known from birth. Slowly, she shook her head. “I just can’t…take this in.”
He would never have told her it was a forgery if it wasn’t.
That meant it was a forgery, and she couldn’t understand…
He crouched before her and took her hands in his. Concern showed clearly in his usually impassive face. “Ellie?” He chafed her hands. “Darling, this is not the end of the world. Trust me—there are things we can do, steps we can take, to make things right.”
She blinked and focused on his face. Far better than on the wretched painting which was not the painting she and all her family thought it was. After a moment, her inner panic subsided enough for his words to register when he repeated, “Could the painting have vanished for weeks?”
She sat back and thought, then reluctantly nodded. “Mrs. Kemp dusts in there occasionally, but only every few months or so. With no one going in there, there really is no need.”
He trapped her gaze. “So there would have been periods during which the painting could have been gone from the wall.”
“Yes.” She looked past his shoulder at the canvas propped on the chair. “And if whoever it was replaced the Albertinelli with that…” She shook her head. “Even I wouldn’t have noticed.”
He remained hunkered in front of her, his gaze on her face. “I want you to think carefully—who else besides the family and staff currently here would have known of the painting? Not just glimpsed it but have known it for what it was—an old master’s work and, even more specifically, an Albertinelli?”
She thought back. “Dr. Hatchett—he spent a lot of time with Mama in that room. And her nurse and the local midwife, and my governess and Maggie’s as well, and Harry’s tutors, and the minister and the deacon—all would have been in that room fairly frequently. Mama held court there, and she was terribly fond of that painting.” She focused on his eyes and grimaced. “And that’s not counting Mama’s close friends. She had a circle of lady friends, and when she fell ill, their husbands often visited, too. Plus, of course, Pyne and his wife and the Morrises as well.”
Godfrey grimaced. “That’s far too many people to imagine investigating.”
She blinked. “Investigating?”
He met her eyes. “The person who took the painting had to be