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She appealed to Lady Heatherton who appealed to her husband. But Sir Gregory didn’t notice her. “I don’t understand. A painting that didn’t belong to him was found in his possession. Why would you release him?”
“He claims he was about to put it back,” the detective said.
Lord and Lady Bunbury exchanged terrified glances. They knew their carefully constructed world was unraveling, yet they were powerless to do anything about it.
“It was fake, you see,” the detective barreled on. “He realized once he saw it in a better light.”
The audience turned to Lady Treloar.
“I didn’t sell it to them!” she cried.
“Oh, no, it wasn’t her,” the detective agreed. “Apparently the same fellow who painted the Quornes’ forgery also painted all of the Bunburys’. He admitted as much during an interrogation.”
“Allof them?” my uncle piped up. “Good lord. How extraordinary. How could one painter manage to swap all of your masterpieces without your knowledge, Bunbury?”
I could kiss him for pointing out the absurdity of the Bunburys not knowing. He’d come to my aid earlier with the rude gentlemen, and he was doing so again, but this time for Aunt Lilian and Flossy’s sakes as well as mine.
Aunt Lilian looped her arm through his and bestowed a warm smile on him. He patted her hand and looked to the Bunburys for a response.
Lord Bunbury mumbled under his breath and tugged on his cuffs. He left it to Lady Bunbury to defend their honor. “We did purchase them from Lady Treloar, as it happens. She tricked us.”
But Lady Treloar was having none of it. She would not be blamed for something she didn’t do. She gave an unladylike snort. “I did nothing of the sort. You probably sold your real paintings and had that forger make replicas for you to hang in their place. Just like you’ve done with all of your jewelry. It’s all fake,” she spat.
Lady Bunbury clutched the necklace at her throat. It was probably paste. But she remained quiet. Beside her, her husband stiffened, but he too didn’t respond to the accusation. They stood together like two statues weathering a storm. But this storm would not blow over soon.
With all eyes now on the Bunburys, and the whispers increasing to a crescendo, the detective made his exit behind the uniformed policemen and Lady Treloar. He winked at me before closing the door.
I glanced around, but no one saw, not even Miss Hessing. Her attention, like everyone else’s, was on the Bunburys.
I watched on, unable to contain my smile. It wasn’t that I particularly relished their social downfall. It was somewhat of an ugly spectacle. My smile was more for Harry. He’d orchestrated that arrest like the director of a play. He’d found the Quornes’ painting in Lady Treloar’s gallery, spoken to Mr. Underwood about his involvement, and filled in the remaining gaps in our knowledge. Along with his father, he’d apprised the detective of the evidence and told him what to say when taking Lady Treloar into custody, making sure that I wasn’t involved. He’d even made sure the conversation circled back to the Bunburys and their fake paintings. Of course, that could have been entirely the arresting detective’s doing.
I preferred my version, however, with Harry pulling the strings. All his hard work had almost come undone when Lady Treloar tried to push me down the stairs, but thanks to Miss Hessing, and the detective’s timely entrance, the finale had continued as Harry scripted.
I wouldn’t tell Harry that Lady Treloar tried to kill me. Some things were better left unsaid.
Speaking of being saved from death or, at the very least, broken bones, Miss Hessing deserved more than mere thanks. “Would you like to join me for lunch this week?” I asked.
She took a moment to answer. Like everyone else, she was watching the Bunburys descend the stairs, their arms linked as if propping one another up, pretending to ignore the whispers.
“That would be lovely. I’ll check with my mother to see if we’re free.”
“Your mother isn’t invited.”
She smiled. “It’ll be just the two of us? Or will Miss Bainbridge join us?”
“I hope there’ll be a third, but not Flossy.”
She frowned. “Who?”
“A particular fellow whose name appears on your card an unseemly number of times.”
She glanced at her dance card and flushed. “Oh,” she murmured. “That would be… Uh, well, that would be nice. If he’ll come, that is. Don’t expect it, Miss Fox. Indeed, he probably won’t. He’s just being kind dancing with me three times. He feels sorry for me. But having lunch with me will be a step too far, I’m sure.”
My smile widened, partly at her naiveté, and partly because Lady Bunbury suddenly looked directly at me. She knew I was to blame for her downfall, but she didn’t quite know the role I’d played and so couldn’t retaliate.
With a final flare of her nostrils, she snatched her capelet from the footman and strode out the door. Her husband hurried behind in her wake.
I patted Miss Hessing’s arm. “Don’t fret. Leave him to me. You just make sure your mother is occupied for the day.”
