Harry blew out a breath and looked at Godfrey. “And then we all set-to with Masterton.”
Pyne was nodding. “We thought we heard a shot—two, in fact—but we couldn’t imagine from where.”
Ellie’s father humphed. “Old houses like this have very thick walls. We thought it might be hunters in the woods.”
Kemp entered the room, circled to Ellie’s side, and bent to quietly inquire, “What would you like to do about dinner, miss?”
She looked at the clock and realized it was already past six. A glance at the windows confirmed that night had fallen long since.
She turned to the others. “Papa, as we’ve yet to decide what to do about Masterton, might I suggest that Mr. Morris, Mr. Pyne, and Mr. Jeffers join us at table and we continue our deliberations over dinner?”
Her suggestion was approved by all.
When appealed to, Kemp confirmed that the first course could be served immediately. As everyone rose, Ellie murmured to Godfrey, “I’m going upstairs to change my gown.”
He met her eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
What she saw in his golden-brown gaze warmed her, banishing the last of her lingering chill. “Yes.” She squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back before anyone misses me.”
He grunted. “I already miss you.”
She so wanted to kiss him, but contented herself with patting his chest. “Just hold the fort.”
“Always.”
She slipped out of the library ahead of everyone else and rushed for the stairs.
Godfrey watched her depart, then claimed the right to push Mr. Hinckley into the dining room.
Ellie returned as Kemp and a footman were circling the table, placing a bowl of thick oyster soup before each guest. Once she, now a vision in a plum-silk gown, sat, Mr. Hinckley said grace, and everyone set about appeasing their appetites, which, given the excitement of the last hours, were considerable.
The soup was delicious and warming, yet as he sat on Ellie’s right and supped, Godfrey felt warmth of a different kind sinking all the way to his bones.
Masterton had been exposed, and Ellie, Harry, Maggie, Mr. Hinckley, and Jeffers, too, were safe. As was Godfrey.
Today had been a triumph for them all; they’d won through, and now all that remained was to tie up the loose ends.
For him, however, he would argue the triumph was even greater. Through solving the mystery of the Albertinelli and the consequent action of the past days, he’d found the place in which he could be…all he could be.
Here, with Ellie, with her family, he could reach for his most precious dream and have a real chance of achieving it.
Here, with Ellie, he could and would live a full and satisfying life.
The prospect filled him with such eagerness, such impatient joy, that just thinking about it left him giddy. As he laid aside his soupspoon, he couldn’t stop smiling.
From the head of the table, Mr. Hinckley looked at Jeffers, seated opposite Godfrey. “It seems that Masterton sold a painting of our family’s that”—Mr. Hinckley glanced at Godfrey—“I assume would have raised a considerable sum.”
Godfrey nodded. “Anything up to three thousand pounds or even more.”
Mr. Hinckley returned his gaze to Jeffers. “We believe that was about three years ago. Yet Masterton is still in debt and apparently needs more cash. Do you have any idea what he did with such a sum?”
“Not as such,” Jeffers replied. “But what I can tell you is that Cawley’s records show that Masterton paid two and a half thousand off his slate…” Jeffers squinted, clearly trying to remember. “And yes, that was nearly three years ago.”
“What the devil does he do with the money?” Harry spread his hands. “He lives in lodgings in Ripon. This isn’t London with extravagant prices for everything.”
Jeffers smiled faintly. “No, but there are plenty of opportunities to gamble in York—the races, the dens—and both are as bad as anything you’ll find farther south.” He paused, then looked at Mr. Hinckley. “Cawley’s notes on Masterton say he—Masterton—gambles heavily, and he likes to play the part of a well-heeled gentleman, which also runs through money. Cawley’s assessment was that Masterton’s funds went on the tables, the nags, and on wine, women, and song.”
Mr. Hinckley grimaced.
Kemp approached, and Mr. Hinckley waved the butler to present the main course.
Once they’d all been served and had swallowed their first mouthfuls, Mr. Hinckley said, “Looking back, I can see that Masterton was always careful to hide such propensities from me.” He glanced at Ellie and her siblings. “From everyone here. As we don’t get out much, that wouldn’t have been difficult.”
“We never met him anywhere but here,” Ellie pointed out. “We had no reason to suspect that his true character was different from what we saw.”
Godfrey felt protectiveness surge; the Hinckleys—all of them—were so honest and straightforward, it hadn’t occurred to them that Masterton wasn’t. On a flash of insight, he realized that he didn’t want the family—any of them—to change, to lose their faith in transparency, in openness; instead, in the future, he would act as their shield.
He who knew all about deception and deceit; it was as if Fate—not Eastlake—had sent him to Hinckley Hall.
Harry swallowed and frowned. “Speaking of the Albertinelli, one point I don’t understand is that Masterton himself was the one to suggest we think of selling it.” He appealed to his sisters. “Do you remember?”
Maggie nodded. “He didn’t tell us to sell that particular painting, but he suggested that if there was an old one we thought might be valuable and we didn’t actually like…” She glanced at her father. “Do you remember, Papa?”
Frowning, clearly racking his memories, Mr. Hinckley slowly nodded. “Yes. You’re right. I hadn’t thought of selling the Albertinelli until Masterton suggested it.”
“How long ago was that?” Jeffers asked.
Harry replied, “About six months ago.”
Jeffers nodded. “That coincides with Cawley’s attempts to get his debtors to pay back as much as possible before he sold his loan book.”
“But,” Ellie said, clearly puzzled, “Masterton knew the painting then hanging in Mama’s parlor was a forgery. Why on earth draw attention to it?”
Godfrey allowed the footman to remove his empty plate, then glanced up the table. “I can probably answer that. Through stealing and selling the original Albertinelli, Masterton learned how much the painting was worth—which was likely far more than he’d initially imagined. The forgery by Hendall is exceptional—there was a good, even excellent chance that it would pass as the original. Very few in this country would have recognized it as a forgery. If it had sold, then given the amount the family would have gained, I suspect Masterton had hopes of laying hands on at least some of it as a loan. Regardless, if he was already working on his long-term plan of marrying Ellie and gaining control of and subsequently selling the Hall, then from his point of view, your attempt to sell the painting would benefit him either way. If it sold to the gallery, the Hinckley estate would be in much better shape when he eventually got his hands on it—he would just have to find some way other than financial hardship to pressure Ellie to marry him. On the other hand, if the painting was identified as a forgery and the sale didn’t go ahead, that would leave the family more financially stretched—in his eyes, more vulnerable—and he would have redoubled his efforts to convince Ellie to marry him with promises of financial rescue.”