She tipped her head as if studying him through newly opened eyes. “So you’re proposing to act as our family’s agent and travel to Amsterdam to confront this forger?”
He nodded. “If your father agrees.”
Her face darkened. “You’re not going now—this week? At this time of year, the crossing will be dangerous, and you’ll risk having a relapse regardless.” She rose. “Papa might agree to the plan, but I’ll make sure he understands that you can’t go—at least not until the weather and your chest improve.”
Godfrey frowned and was about to protest when he caught her eye, and the notion bloomed in his brain that her obsession with his health was remarkably similar to his obsession with her well-being. With his eyes locked with hers, he hesitated, then conceded, “I’m sure if I asked, my brother Kit would be happy to sail one of his yachts to Amsterdam and ask Hendall a few pointed questions.” The thought made him grin.
“Good.” She seemed relieved. She looked again at the painting—the forgery—then, with an almost puzzled expression, returned her gaze to him. “You agreed to that too readily—what are you planning?”
Despite all, he nearly laughed. Then again, she wasn’t wrong. “I keep mentally tripping over the fact that”—he waved at the forgery—“is here. That it exists at all. Given the isolation of Hinckley Hall and that this particular Albertinelli wasn’t even known to exist, then the risk of a major hue and cry—one that reached farther than the immediate vicinity—was all but nonexistent. If the painting had vanished, you and the local authorities would simply have concluded that someone had stolen it, and that would have been that. Instead”—he gestured again at the forgery—“we have this. Why the…well, deception?”
That was why the forgery’s existence kept niggling so insistently; why perpetrate such a deception on the innocent and unthreatening Hinckleys? “I honestly can’t see why our thief went to the considerable effort and expense of replacing the painting with such a high-class forgery, sufficient for everyone here to think the painting was still at the Hall, where it belonged.” He paused, then grimaced. “As for what I’m planning…I really don’t know, but pursuing an answer to the why of the forgery strikes me as one possible way forward.”
After a moment, he looked at Ellie. “When your father let it be known that he’d decided to contact the National Gallery about selling the Albertinelli, did any of your acquaintance, when they heard of it, display any odd reaction?”
She thought, then slowly shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of, but Papa might know more.”
Godfrey nodded and met her eyes. “In that case, unless you would advise otherwise, I think it’s time we spoke with your father.”
Godfrey opened the library door and held it for Ellie, then followed her into the room.
It was heading toward noon, and Mr. Hinckley was seated in his chair beside the fire, reading the newspapers that had been delivered that morning.
At the sounds of their footsteps, he lowered the sheet and smiled at them. “Good morning.” He nodded to Godfrey. “I missed you at breakfast—I heard you were up early.”
“I was.” Godfrey waited until Ellie gathered her skirts and sat on the sofa, opposite her father, then sat beside her. “I completed my assessment of your painting and took a long walk to order my thoughts.”
“Ah.” Mr. Hinckley folded the newspaper and set it on the side table by his elbow. Then he set his hands in his lap and, his expression one of pleasant expectation, looked at Godfrey.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Before he could speak, Ellie leaned forward, drawing her father’s gaze. “Papa, Godfrey is certain the painting we have is a forgery.”
Mr. Hinckley blinked, and all color drained from his face. “What?” He looked from Ellie to Godfrey, then back again, clearly reading the truth in their faces. “But…” Mr. Hinckley’s face creased with confusion. “How?”
“Indeed.” Reclaiming the reins, Godfrey succinctly outlined what he was now convinced had occurred. After answering Mr. Hinckley’s questions, Godfrey concluded by stating that it might be possible to reclaim the painting, so all might not be lost.
Unsurprisingly, Mr. Hinckley wished to know how.
After explaining his plan to demand the name of who had commissioned the forgery from the forger himself, with a glance at Ellie, Godfrey said, “I had thought that, with the weather as it is, I might ask one of my brothers who has his own yacht to go in my stead, but on reflection, I doubt that will work.” He sat straighter. “It will have to be me, because Hendall will know who I am—what I do—and so know there’s no point in trying to obfuscate and deny his involvement.” He paused, then added, “I anticipate a certain amount of persuasion will be needed to convince Hendall to cooperate, but ultimately, given you hold the provenance and I can testify to the forgery being his, I believe he’ll cut his losses and reveal who paid him to copy the Albertinelli.”
Ellie frowned. “If it has to be you who speaks with this Hendall person, that will have to wait until later in the year, once the seas are safe to cross.”
Mr. Hinckley regarded his daughter for a moment, no doubt taking in the militant look in her eye, then humphed and didn’t argue. Instead, he looked at Godfrey and asked, “Once you know who commissioned the forgery, what then?”
“Then we speak with that person and make it clear that the only way they’ll escape retribution is by assisting in reclaiming the original painting from whomever they’ve sold it to and restoring it to the rightful owners—namely, the Hinckleys.”
Mr. Hinckley’s expression turned thoughtful, then he nodded. “I like the way you think.” He glanced sidelong at Ellie, then returned his gaze to Godfrey. “As I mentioned to you before, the family can manage, at least well enough for now, without the extra funds from the sale of the painting.”
From the older man’s expression, Godfrey understood that he wasn’t supposed to tell Ellie just how concerned her father was over the family’s financial position; knowing that he himself would bail them out if the need arose, he nodded his agreement to Mr. Hinckley’s unstated request.
Mr. Hinckley glanced again at Ellie, then drew breath and addressed Godfrey. “One question I feel I must ask, Mr. Cavanaugh, is why you’re willing to go to such lengths for us. We can’t afford to pay for your time—”
Godfrey waved the notion aside. “I don’t seek payment, sir.” He looked at Ellie and smiled a touch ruefully. “And truth be told, I don’t need money—that’s not what’s driving me in this.” He held Ellie’s gaze for a moment, willing her to see his principal reason, then looked at her father. “Those who know me and my interest in artworks would say I’m obsessed with detecting and exposing forgeries. It’s something of a personal crusade, which has its genesis in my experiences at the hands of a close family member who was a past master at deception and deceit. What I do now—what I am now—is a reaction to my past. In the field of authenticating artworks, I’m now regarded as an expert in detecting fraudulent works…”