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“So many mysteries,” Clarke said as they walked through the museum. “It’s captivated people for years.”
“A World of Curiosities,” said Reine-Marie.
“Exactly that. So many secrets. What’s your interest in the painting?”
“I’m writing a paper on it,” Reine-Marie explained. “I’m retired now but spent my life as a historian in Québec. I want to branch out into art history.”
“Well, you couldn’t find a more fascinating place to start than”—they turned a corner—“here.”
And there before them was an immense canvas. The Paston Treasure.
Reine-Marie stood in awe and Amelia actually gasped.
The painting was overwhelming, almost shocking in its display of opulence. And yet it was also deeply human, almost innocent. As though it surprised itself.
“Captivating, isn’t it?” Cecil said, clearly enjoying the reaction. “I’ve studied it for years and am still enthralled.”
“It feels as though we can walk right into it,” said Amelia.
He turned and looked at her with interest. “Yes. I often feel I have. In fact, I play a game with myself. I try to imagine which objects I’d bring with me, to add to those already there. What treasures. Trophies.”
“And what would you?” Reine-Marie asked, keeping her voice light.
“Oh, it changes every day.”
“Today?” she asked.
“Probably a favorite piece of music. Maybe a film, definitely a book. If I could get the great auk in, I would.”
Reine-Marie smiled and returned her gaze to the canvas and said, casually, “It does lend itself to that thought. Do you know of anyone who’s actually done it?”
“Walked into the painting?”
She laughed. “No. I mean made a copy but added some modern touches.”
He considered. “There probably are some, but none I’m aware of.”
She brought out her phone and showed him a photo of the one in the attic. “What do you make of this?”
He stared at it, enlarging the image and moving it about on the screen.
“Now this is a curiosity. How fun.” He looked from her phone to the original, and back. “An interesting choice of modern objects. Did you do this?”
She closed her phone and laughed again. “No. I just found this copy. I actually became interested in The Paston Treasure when a friend invited me to an exhibition here a few years ago. I couldn’t make it, but I looked up the work. Were you here for that show?”
“The one three years ago or so? I’d just arrived. I’m Canadian too, from New Brunswick. Retired.”
“Art history?”
“No. Engineering, actually.”
Captain Moel met the Chief Inspector outside the Old Train Station and was glad she’d come down.
“This is where you live?” she asked as she got out of the car. “It looks like something out of a Disney animation. I half expect the butterflies to burst into song.” She had her back to him. “Peaceful.”
“You’d think.”
She turned and saw his face. Grim. Worried.
