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This was Lady Treloar’s private room, not an office. She didn’t use this to write up orders. There was a Queen Anne style desk in the gallery for that. She probably kept her bag in here. I found it quickly among the mess, since there were so few places to look, and rummaged through it. Aside from a few subtle cosmetics, I found nothing of interest and returned it to where I’d found it, beneath the bench.
I opened the door, peered out and, seeing him alone, rejoined Harry near the archway. I shook my head.
Lady Treloar farewelled her customer then turned her smile onto us. “I do apologize, but I hope the wait has been worth your while. Have you seen anything you like?”
Harry handed her a business card then introduced himself. As he’d done the previous day with Lady Quorne, he introduced me as his associate without naming me, no doubt trying to protect my identity. Going by the slight pursing of Lady Treloar’s lips, she thought it ill-mannered of him. She was a woman in business, and a successful one at that. I suspected she appreciated other women who did not allow men to speak for them. She also didn’t seem to recognize me, so I thought it safe to give her my name.
I put out my hand and introduced myself. She smiled and shook it heartily.
She held up Harry’s card. “Does this have something to do with the murder of poor Mr. McDonald?”
Harry nodded. “We’re working with the police to tie up loose ends.”
“I was wondering when I would be questioned, but then I read about the footman’s arrest, so I thought it might not happen. Yet here you are…”
“Did you know Mr. McDonald?”
“A little. We were acquaintances rather than friends.”
Harry indicated the gallery and paintings with a sweeping gesture. “You’re clearly an expert.”
“You flatter me, Mr. Armitage. I am somewhat knowledgeable but no expert.”
“Have Lord and Lady Bunbury ever been customers of yours?”
She blinked, the question clearly taking her by surprise. “No. I believe their artworks are old family pieces inherited by Lord Bunbury.”
“What about Lord and Lady Quorne?”
“I sold them a Grandjean last year. In fact, I learned at the Bunburys’ ball that it was stolen quite recently. It must have been quite a shock for them. Lady Quorne loved that painting.”
“You hadn’t heard about the theft before the ball?” I asked. “I imagine it would have been common knowledge among their acquaintances and the art world.”
“I’ve been abroad. I spent the last four weeks enjoying the sunshine in Biarritz, and only just arrived back in London the day before the Bunburys’ ball.”
“You would have had the opportunity to study the Bunburys’ paintings on the night of the ball,” I said. “What did you think of them?”
She shifted her glance to Harry then back to me. “That’s an odd question.”
“Was there anything…unexpected about them?”
She touched a frame of one of the paintings on the wall to straighten it, although it looked perfectly straight to me. “I don’t understand the question.”
“Were any of them fakes?”
She stilled. “I don’t see how that’s connected to the murder.”
“It may not be,” Harry said. “We just want to get a broad picture, and we’ve been reliably informed that the artworks in their townhouse are not originals.”
Harry’s light manner and encouraging smile seemed to relax her. “This cannot go further than this room, and if it does, I will deny the information came from me. You’re right. All the paintings that I saw are copies. I knew they owned some pieces by the masters and was keen to see them, but I knew instantly they weren’t the originals.”
“Did Mr. McDonald know they were fakes?” I asked.
She bristled. “I can’t say what another person knows, Miss Fox.”
“You were seen talking to him at the ball. What were you talking about?”
“A painting. He wanted to know what I thought about it. I told him it was an intriguing piece and left it at that. I’m not going to blurt out that it was a copy. It would be cruel to the Bunburys.”
