Reluctant Deception - Cambria Smyth Page 0,32
budget for acquisitions?” he asked coolly.
“Well, we did until we took on the schoolhouse restoration.” She kept her voice upbeat as she looked at him hopefully.
“So you have no money to purchase the photographs, is that what you’re telling me?”
She gulped. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”
“I’ll consider it, but I make no promises.” He tried hard to keep his voice firm and steely, but he was having a hell of a time ignoring her and the charming visage she presented today. And when she regarded him with those big brown doe eyes, it was all he could do to turn away.
He heard Libby sigh in defeat and momentarily wished they weren’t adversaries.
They agreed the room held nothing the salvage company would be interested in and proceeded to the second floor. Libby pointed out the many architectural treasures to be wrested from the mansion’s walls, restraining her enthusiasm the best she could as she described them. Heavily-carved arch-headed doors with solid brass knobs in ornate lock boxes, molded trim enriched with hand-carved corner blocks, plaster corbels supporting elaborate arches, alabaster chimney and mantle pieces that would bring a small fortune, even gas ceiling and wall fixtures with cranberry and milk glass globes. The expensive hardwood flooring could be recycled, as well. All of these details she knew by heart, having photographed and documented each and every one in the mansion’s 15 bedrooms.
By four o’clock they were on the first floor, wandering its many tall-ceilinged rooms. Libby noted the various doors, cove moldings, interior shutters, mantels, and light fixtures that, with careful removal, would be any salvager’s dream. She confessed he stood to make a small fortune on the building’s architectural pieces.
The entrance hall was the last room for them to inventory. It was getting late, about six p.m. Libby pointed out the staircase, mentioning its impressively-turn balusters, ornate newel post, and mahogany handrail that, once cleaned, would shine with a special gleam. She assured him that even though some balusters were missing, an experienced cabinetmaker would have no problem replicating them.
Knowing she’d saved the best for last, she gestured upward. “Chris, this is probably the most valuable thing in the mansion,” she said, pointing to the stained glass window prominently displayed at the landing. She didn’t even bother to disguise her excitement.
Chris followed her gaze and let it rest on the colorful window. He’d never really noticed it before. Hell, he’d never really noticed anything in the house before today. Until she carefully explained what she was showing him and why it was important and valuable. He was thrilled with her assessment that he’d make a lot of money ripping the mansion apart. Anything to keep his costs down, which seemed to be spiraling out of control lately.
“What do you know about it?” he asked, his curiosity mildly piqued.
Libby took in its dazzling colors vividly illuminated by the slowly-sinking evening sun that finally appeared late in the afternoon. Of course, the panel had roses, like everything else in the mansion. A lovely border suffused with grandifloras, floribundas, climbers, and rugosas in every color of the rainbow surrounded a scene depicting the river view behind Harte’s Desire. Two figures in the distance surely represented Chester and Amanda Harte. The stained glass artist’s talents were showcased to perfection in the piece.
“I don’t know anything yet. It’s placed too high in the wall for me to see a signature or maker’s mark.” Mentally, she reviewed the known Philadelphia studios Chester Harte could have commissioned: D’Ascenzio Studios, the Coldwell Brothers, William Trench, there were several, all talented.
“I’ll get a ladder,” Chris offered, realizing that it would be a nice diversion to help steady her petite form as she took a closer look. They’d been civil with each other all afternoon, nothing more or less to suggest any earlier attraction between them. Truth be told, he missed their easy banter.
He returned minutes later and secured the ladder in the landing. Libby climbed up, grateful for Chris’ assistance. Starting at the window’s left side, her eyes wandered each piece of leaded glass across the bottom rail, looking for a signature to identify the maker. She’d almost reached the far right, when she gasped.
“Oh my gosh,” she said breathlessly. “It’s signed Louis C. Tiffany!”
“Are you sure?” Even he knew who Tiffany was.
“I am positive. Chris, you have to see this to believe it.” Libby quickly climbed down so Chris could examine her discovery.
Her thoughts raced. When did Tiffany strike out on his own? Was this piece documented in