Page 154 of The Language of Love

Annis looked up at him. “How did you know what they looked like?”

“The Stoke Collection is famous and there are many drawings. In terms of reproducing them, it was not difficult.” He grinned. “Certainly not as much of a challenge as that Vermeer.”

“You obviously have enough talent as a painter to make money honestly. Why do you do it?”

Martha Loring scowled. “That’s none of your—”

Loring waved a staying hand at his wife. “I used to be a portrait painter.” A bitter expression flickered across his face. “Wealthy people treated me worse than their servants. They complained if the portraits were too realistic and they wanted Sir Joshua Reynolds for the price of a street sweeper.” He shrugged. “So, I went to their homes and painted flattering portraits of their wives and daughters by day and copied and replaced their priceless works of art at night. It was good work while it lasted.”

“You got caught?”

“Not quite, but too close for my comfort. And then my darling Martha came up with a new plan. After all, everyone loves a young, handsome man of the cloth, don’t they, Annis?”

She ignored the dig. “What do you want me to do?”

“First, where does the earl keep the key to the vault?”

Annis hesitated, but Henry had told her to tell them the truth. Still, it was irksome to just—

“Annis,” Richard said, the menace in his voice unmistakable. “If you are thinking of lying, please remember your grandmother.”

“It’s in the study,” she retorted.

Richard’s eyebrows shot up, his expression justifiably skeptical. “I thought that was where he kept the vault? He’d never keep the key in the same room.”

“He keeps it beneath one of the andirons, there is a hollowed-out place for it.”

“Ah, clever—and convenient. I thought you were going to have to sneak it out of his pocket.” He turned and looked at his wife. “What do you think, my dear?”

The other woman cut Annis a hate-filled look. “I think now is as good a time as any, Dickie.”

***

Henry watched from the woods, Green beside him. Even though the Lorings had never exhibited violence in the past, Henry and Green were both armed with pistols as a precaution.

The windows of the Dower House were covered, but a sliver of light escaped from a gap between the heavy drapes in the downstairs parlor.

“You’re sure they’ll do it tonight?” Green asked. “My understanding is that they arranged with the dowager to wait until the feast night.”

“I’m sure they did,” Henry said. “But I somehow doubt they want to split the profits with her now that they have my wife to help them get into the safe.”

Green clucked his tongue. “Thieves double crossing each other. What has the world come to?”

Henry chuckled. “Here they come,” he whispered, ducking back behind the tree when the servant door opened.

First came Annis, holding the lantern. A moment later, the other two followed, and all three headed toward Stoke.

“I’ll be damned,” Green murmured. “You’re right.”

“You go fetch the constable,” Henry said. “I’ll meet you at the house.”

“Aye, my lord—have a care, animals get dangerous when cornered.”