Harry frowned. “No. As you say, it’s ugly.”
Mr. Hinckley humphed. “We use it as a doorstop because it’s ugly and we have no other use for it.”
Ellie and Maggie nodded.
“In that case”—Godfrey looked at Harry—“perhaps you might fetch it?”
Harry gave him an odd look, but stood and left the room. He was back in less than a minute, carrying the cherub.
Just over a foot tall, on a base of perhaps five inches square, the marble cherub stood with one hand resting on a short column. Its round bald head, exaggeratedly rounded features, and cupid-bow lips, instead of giving it a benevolent air, made it look faintly menacing.
Harry halted before Godfrey and held out the statue. “Ghastly thing.”
Godfrey took it in his hands. He turned it this way and that, examining the lines and searching out the tiny etching he knew would be there, confirming it was, indeed, what he’d suspected. Reassured on that point, he smiled, then he looked at the Hinckleys before turning his gaze on Jeffers.
“This”—Godfrey hefted the statue—“is a sculpture by Pietro Lombardo, created sometime around 1500.” He looked at Mr. Hinckley. “If you and your family have no use for it, I suggest you give it to Jeffers.” He looked at Jeffers. “And I will give you a formal declaration as to its authenticity, along with a letter of introduction to a gentleman in London, who will happily give you at least twelve hundred pounds for it, and if I were you, I’d haggle for more.” Godfrey looked at the cherub. “Indeed, at auction, this piece could fetch as much as two thousand pounds.”
Jeffers stared, then looked at Mr. Hinckley. “Are you sure? The debt is only just over a thousand.”
Mr. Hinckley looked at his children, then returned his gaze to Jeffers. “If you’re willing to take the statue as payment of Masterton’s debt, then we would be very pleased to settle in this way.”
Godfrey grinned, rose, and held out the statue.
Jeffers rose, too, and took the cherub from Godfrey’s hands. Jeffers raised the statue, studying it, then looked at the Hinckleys and grinned. “It is ugly, isn’t it?”
Everyone laughed—the first laugh any of them had uttered since going up to the old attic.
Jeffers settled the statue in the crook of his arm and turned to Mr. Hinckley. “With your permission, sir, I’ll retire. We’ll need to start early tomorrow if we’re to get Masterton on the evening ferry.”
“Indeed, sir.” Mr. Hinckley held out a hand, and Jeffers shook it. “The Hinckleys are in your debt.”
Jeffers smiled. “Actually”—he juggled the statue—“I believe the shoe is on the other foot.” He looked around at them all. “Thank you—all of you.”
Godfrey offered his hand. “It’s been interesting, Jeffers.”
Jeffers grinned and shook his hand. “A good way to put it.” Proving he was an observant man, Jeffers glanced at Ellie, then arched a brow at Godfrey. “I take it I might see you around these parts in the future.”
Godfrey tried to school his features to impassivity, but his smile refused to fade. “Very likely.” He clapped Jeffers on the shoulder. “I’ll leave the declaration of authenticity and the letter of introduction on the table in the front hall.”
Jeffers made his farewells to the Hinckley siblings, and Ellie summoned Kemp to show him to his room.
Once the door closed behind Jeffers, Ellie sighed with relief and rising happiness. She turned to Godfrey, but her father beat her to it.
“Thank you, Lord Godfrey.” As Ellie and her siblings and Godfrey resumed their seats, her father continued, “Your help throughout this trying time has been invaluable. Indeed, had you not been here, I don’t know how we would have managed—if we would have avoided Masterton’s snares. As for the Albertinelli…”
Ellie watched her father’s gaze grow distant, then he sighed. “It was my Henrietta’s favorite, and I’m sad to know it’s gone, but I suppose we have the forgery to remind us of it—as you say, it’s a very good replica.” Her father returned his gaze to Godfrey, who had once again taken Ellie’s hand, but from where her father was positioned, he couldn’t see that. Her father went on, “From your comments earlier, I take it you hold out little hope of reclaiming the painting.”
Godfrey dipped his head. “I’m happy to make the attempt, but the count is not known for bowing to pressure from other countries to return stolen artworks.”
Her father grunted. “In that case, I see no point in asking you to further waste your time. Now the roads are clear and our painting has proved to be a forgery and we’ve learned that the original is out of reach, I daresay you’ll be keen to head back to London.”
“As to that, sir…”
Alerted by the suppressed excitement in Godfrey’s voice, Ellie glanced at him.
He flashed her a smile, then looked at her father. “You might have lost the Albertinelli—although with your permission, I will see what can be done about that—yet rather ironically thanks to Masterton luring me up to your old attic, I’ve discovered you own four other canvases that I suspect are of equal and possibly even greater value.”
Ellie blinked.
Godfrey looked at Harry and Maggie. “Those four paintings we left in the library. Could you fetch them, please?”
Faces lighting, Harry and Maggie leapt to their feet and hurried out.
Godfrey looked at Ellie, then at her father. “I’ve only seen one of the four. The other three were turned to the wall, but judging by the frames, I’m hopeful they will all be of similar ilk.”
Harry shouldered open the door and came in, carrying two of the paintings; he paused to hold open the door, allowing Maggie to enter with the other two.
Godfrey rose and lifted and lined up two side tables before the chair Masterton had previously occupied. “Let’s lean them along here.”
Ellie watched, intrigued, as Godfrey took each painting and briefly studied it before setting it on the floor in front of the tables, facing them all as Harry and Maggie resumed their seats.
Godfrey remained standing to one side of the line of frames. He pointed to the first. “This is the one that was facing outward, so I’ve had a little time to study it.” His gaze on the painting, he drew in a deep breath—as if he was holding in welling, geysering excitement. When he spoke, his voice sounded slightly strained. “I can’t be certain, not without examining it in better light and verifying all the necessary criteria, but I feel…” His tone lowered to one approaching reverence. “I’m almost certain it’s a Titian. Not just from Titian’s studio—there are quite a few paintings by his students—but from the hand of the master himself.”
With the rest of her family, Ellie stared at the canvas. It depicted two rather voluptuous women, partially unclothed, in what she took to be a garden setting.
“That one, alone, is close to priceless.” Godfrey pointed to the next painting. “And then there’s this one, which is almost certainly a Botticelli. His work is relatively easy to recognize. And this one, I think, is a Correggio, while this”—he pointed to the last of the four paintings—“is, I believe, by del Sarto.”