Eden shrugged, making patterns in the thick sauce with the tip of his knife. “Who knows? As I was explaining to the captain, I am at a bit of a loss. I’ll kick over some stones and see what I find.”
“I’m happy to help if you like.” Fitzgerald wiped his mouth clear of the peppery juices. “I am dining with the Prince Regent tomorrow. Renewing our acquaintanceship, that sort of thing. The old chap has let his self-indulgence get the better of him, but he is still the Prince of Wales, and standing in for our poor enfeebled monarch. I could find out if there’s a place for you in his sphere—as military adviser or counter of royal spoons or whatnot. If nothing else, you might have a stipend while you discover what interests you.”
Eden brightened. “That would be kind of you. Thank you, sir.”
“Not at all. I am in your debt for preventing the conversation on our voyage from being tedious in the extreme. With the Kingstons preaching, Warrilow snarling, and Laybourne moaning, I welcomed our tales of life on Antigua. As though we were heroic adventurers.” He dissolved into laughter once more.
I knew a man who worked in the Regent’s abode of Carlton House—he looked after and cataloged the prince’s vast art collection and advised him on what to purchase. Such a man might need an assistant. I hesitated to mention this, however, because not only did the gentleman in question have a sharp tongue, he also worked for Denis.
Grenville, on the other hand, had many friends and acquaintances throughout the haut ton. Any of them might need a secretary or a steward.
I kept this to myself as well, because I did not wish to appear in competition with Fitzgerald to be Eden’s mentor. I decided that if the Regent had nothing for Eden to do or didn’t want to bother with him, I would ask Grenville for help.
Our supper continued with another serving of meat, and I felt my waistband tightening. I’d have to ride for a long time to work off this meal.
More came in the form of a lemon tart, a trifle, and French chocolate truffles, finished with a sweet dessert wine from the Rhine valley.
At long last, the final plates were removed, and we were treated to brandy. Fitzgerald produced an enameled snuffbox with the portrait of a smiling, beautiful woman on the cover, and offered it. Eden took a pinch but I declined, as I disliked snuff.
Eden and Fitzgerald inhaled the fine tobacco, then sneezed into large handkerchiefs, Eden more delicately than Fitzgerald. I smiled tolerantly and sipped the excellent brandy.
It was late by the time Fitzgerald rose and asked us to follow him to his chamber, where he would display the curiosity.
Fitzgerald led us to an upper floor. The rooms he ushered us into were small and rather plain but bore touches of luxury. A fire had been lit, the fireplace faced with gilded pilasters. A clock flanked by bronze lions proclaimed the time from the mantelpiece. A wide window looked out to the street, heavy drapes now drawn over it, and double doors presumably led into a bedchamber. The few chairs strewn about spoke of comfort. The room was lit by a chandelier, a miniature of the one in the dining room, lending the room a soft glow.
“Help yourselves to brandy,” Fitzgerald said waving to a table laden with several decanters. He opened one of the double doors that gave us a glimpse of a tall bedstead behind it.
“Lacey?” Eden moved to the table and lifted a decanter, amber liquid sloshing in it. A silver tag on a chain around the decanter’s neck told us it held French brandy.
“Why not?” I’d already imbibed plenty of hock, wine, and brandy at supper, but the drink was good and I didn’t often indulge this much.
Eden poured. By the time he’d handed me a goblet, Fitzgerald had returned with a box about three feet long and two wide in the crook of his arm. He moved a table out from between two chairs and deposited his burden onto it.
The box was obviously old, its varnished wood worn but polished to a high sheen. It had been well made, with a carved lip on top and bottom, and painted superbly with cherubs who were cavorting, drawing at an easel, or enjoying life as cherubs are wont.
One of the box’s sides was completely open. Eden and I bent to peer inside and found the painting of a house’s interior. The colors were vivid, the floor a black-and-white pattern, the walls a golden hue, with several open doorways that framed other rooms.
However, the perspective was terrible. I had viewed art at the Dulwich gallery, studied Grenville’s collection of masterpieces, and gazed in awe at the few paintings Denis displayed in his house. I surmised that this painting was Dutch, as the interior space was similar to that which I’d seen in the picture of the girl with a cream jug in Denis’s home.
This artist had done bizarre things with lines, some of the floor tiles slanting up the other side of the box and a door canted sideways, making the scene beyond it stretch oddly.
Eden straightened. “I can’t say much for the artist. He’s no Canaletto.”
Fitzgerald’s smile was broad. “I said a similar thing to the chappie from St. Maarten who sold it to me. They’re Dutch there—at least, part of that island is. Then he revealed the secret.”
Fitzgerald set another table next to the box, on its open side. On this he placed a small lantern and lit the candle inside. Last, he unfolded a very thin sheet of paper and laid it over the open side of the box, concealing the interior but letting the light glow through the paper.
“Now, gentlemen. Observe.” He pointed to a small hole on the short end of the box, an identical hole on the other.
“Captain Lacey? You appear to be skeptical, so why don’t you have the first look?”
He positioned a chair near the table. I sat down, having to lean only a little to put my eye to the opening.
I peered inside … and beheld a wonder.
The strange distortions had vanished. I was gazing into the interior of a large home, pleasingly spartan, with wide square tiles and a few pieces of boxlike furniture. Through a doorframe in front of me, I saw a larger room with paintings on its walls. Another open doorway beyond that led to an outer room with a windowed front door. A man with a high-crowned hat stood outside, waiting for a small woman who reached to admit him.
“Remarkable.” I raised my head. “It appears to be multiple rooms. I didn’t notice it being divided inside, unless you’ve slid in partitions?”
As Fitzgerald watched with glee, I peeled back the paper on the open side, but the box was an empty cube, painted only on its walls, floor, and ceiling. Yet when I looked through the hole again, I’d swear I was gazing at a succession of rooms and beyond to an outdoor courtyard.
“I understand why you wished to acquire it.” I relinquished my place to Eden, who was soon exclaiming in astonishment.
Fitzgerald beckoned to me. “Now try the other side.”
I stooped to gaze through the second hole, even while Eden continued with the first. Now I saw more rooms, but differently furnished, and which led, one after the other, to a garden. A dog, sitting upright nearly in front of me, watched me interestedly.
“Good heavens.” I stood up, touching the top of the box. “It is a masterwork.”
“Very clever, these Dutch chaps. Made nearly two hundred years ago, if you believe it.”
“Why did the man sell this to you?” I asked. “I’d not let this treasure out of my sight.”