Masterton nodded as if accepting Godfrey’s silence as an indication of some sort of detente. After a moment during which he plainly gathered his thoughts, he went on, “Both you and I know there’s a good chance the Hinckleys won’t be able to reclaim the Albertinelli. That whether they—and you—will succeed is very much up in the air.”
Again, Godfrey said nothing; the man was right.
Masterton thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and looked down, then he shifted closer and, lowering his voice, said, “When I was a boy, I was occasionally brought here to visit. I used to run free through the house—all over, as a boy left alone to explore will do. From that time, so many years ago, I remember seeing old paintings—more than one—left on the floor, set to one side in the attic of the disused wing.”
Godfrey frowned slightly. “I’ve heard mention of a disused wing. Do you know for how long it’s been closed up?”
“Multiple decades at the very least. The wing had been shut up long before I ventured in.” Masterton paused to search Godfrey’s face. “Look—I have no idea if the paintings are still there, much less whether they’re valuable or just old Auntie Someone’s daubs. They might even be more forgeries.” His earnest tone held a touch of urgency. “But I thought…well, I know Matthew’s need of funds is greater than he lets on, and as you’re here and haven’t yet departed, I wondered whether you might take a quick look-see.” He glanced toward the library. “I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, and for all I know, the paintings might not even be there anymore.”
Masterton looked back at Godfrey. “Regardless, I thought I would go and find out and wondered if you would be interested in coming along, too.”
The annals of history were peppered with instances of long-lost masterpieces discovered in the most unlikely places. Godfrey was well aware that many great finds had been made in just this way—by someone thinking to go poking in an old attic or cellar. Quite aside from the compulsion to help the Hinckleys—which Masterton patently shared—Godfrey couldn’t have turned his back and walked away from the prospect of unearthing some unexpected find if his life had depended on it.
Endeavoring to hide his eagerness, he nodded. “All right.” He glanced around. “How do we get into the disused wing?”
Masterton turned toward the stairs. “The only door that still opens is on the first floor.”
Godfrey followed Masterton up the stairs and to the right along the gallery, in the opposite direction from Godfrey’s room and also the family wing. Masterton strode straight to a door set in a wider, taller panel in the side wall toward the end of the gallery; to Godfrey’s educated eye, the panel was set into the rectangular archway framing the entrance of another corridor, presumably the one leading into the now-disused wing.
Without hesitation, Masterton reached for the door’s knob, turned it, and pushed the door open. The hinges creaked faintly, but the door didn’t stick and swung open readily. “Huh.” Masterton seemed as surprised by that as Godfrey. “It’s never been locked,” Masterton said, “but…” He shrugged. “Perhaps Kemp occasionally sends the maids through to dust.”
Masterton stepped through the doorway and held the door as Godfrey followed.
A quick glance around suggested that no maid had been past the door, to dust or do anything else, for a very long time. A thick layer of dust coated the bare, no-longer-polished boards, and cobwebs draped every corner.
Given they were hoping to discover old paintings, the sight of the webs was heartening. Spiders rarely congregated in damp places; their presence suggested the roof of the old wing was sound.
Masterton shut the door and started walking along the corridor. “If I remember correctly, the stairs to the attic are near the center.”
Following in Masterton’s wake, Godfrey breathed in, testing the air. While it was musty and stale, he detected no hint of mold or mildew. He looked around. “Do you know why the family closed this off?”
“As I understand it, it was purely to reduce the size of the place—the number of rooms they needed to keep up.”
That certainly seemed to be the case; Godfrey detected no sign of structural damage or deficiencies in door frames, walls, architraves, or ceiling.
As he’d walked along, Masterton had been scrutinizing the left-hand wall. Abruptly, he stopped and splayed his fingers over the faded paper, then lightly pushed, and a concealed door popped open. “Here they are.” He threw Godfrey a glance as he drew the door wide. “The stairs are rather rough.”
Thus warned, when he followed Masterton into the relative gloom of the stairwell and halted on a narrow landing, Godfrey wasn’t surprised to find bare, unfinished timbers and a railing that looked likely to harbor splinters. He moved forward, and the door to the corridor swung shut behind him, leaving the stairs lit only by faint light filtering down from a skylight far above.
Already climbing the steep upward flight toward the next landing, Masterton said, “Luckily, the steps seem sound enough.”
Masterton was heavier than Godfrey; seeing the other man reach the landing and turn and continue up the next flight, Godfrey followed without further hesitation.
Four longish flights took them to the level of the attic. Godfrey reached the end of the fourth flight to find Masterton waiting to one side of the upper landing. As Godfrey joined him, Masterton reached for the latch that secured the attic door. “Right—let’s see.”
He opened the door, and Godfrey, standing directly in front of it, found himself looking into a large, reasonably well-lit space. He stepped over the threshold, then went farther, allowing Masterton to enter behind him. Godfrey looked up and down the long room, which ran uninterrupted from gable to gable. “It seems they never partitioned this.”
“At least that gives us light enough to see.”
Dormer windows set into the roof allowed daylight to stream in, revealing old trunks, ancient bandboxes, and pieces of long-outdated furniture scattered haphazardly across the floor.
Masterton looked around, then huffed and, in a rather odd tone, said, “Lucky.” He paused, then pointed at the far end of the room. “Over there.”
Godfrey looked and spotted several medium-size picture frames leaning against the wall beneath the farthest dormer window. He headed that way, sidestepping the clumps of household detritus in his path.
Masterton followed.
The closer Godfrey got to the stacked paintings, the harder it got to breathe.
He halted directly before them, with two yards of empty space between, and stared, barely able to believe his eyes.
Three of the canvases had been turned to the wall; only the nearest faced the room.
With his every faculty and all his senses locked on the dark and murky painting, his eyes tracing the lines beneath the dust and accumulated grime, he felt literally giddy. He crouched—to get a different angle and also to ensure he didn’t sway in shock.
He was dimly aware that Masterton had halted beside and a little behind him.
In a tone that held something of Godfrey’s stunned awe, Masterton murmured, “Lord above. There really are old paintings here.”
It took several seconds for the oddness of the words to penetrate the haze filling Godfrey’s mind. He frowned. “What?”