Bloody Royal Prints (15 page)

“I think I understand the situation. We'll take care of it today. But why is it so cold in here? And what
is
that dreadful smell?” she said.

Dinah sighed. “I turn the heat up, and they turn it down. The smell is some of the disgusting stuff they cook.”

“Why doesn't Jonathan fire them?” Coleman asked.

“Ever since we got married, he's wanted to buy a big fancy house, with a butler, a cook, a housekeeper, and probably more people, all live-in. It's what he grew up with, what he's used to. I love to cook and shop for groceries, and I like having a house to myself, or to be alone with him. He doesn't want me to cook or do anything related to housekeeping. I believe he thinks it lowers his status for me to cook and buy groceries, and not depend on a house full of servants. He thought this house was the perfect place for me to learn how wonderful it is to be able to sit around and have someone wait on me. If only. He's sure the reason this place isn't working out is because I can't manage the cook and the housekeeper properly, or worse, that I'm deliberately sabotaging them to get my way,” Dinah said.

“I see. Well, let's go down and take a look at the rest of the house. Where will we find the enemy?” Coleman said.

“Probably in the kitchen,” Dinah said. “They spend the day there, eating.”

“Don't they cook and serve lunch?”

“No, just breakfast and dinner, and they are the only people who eat the food they serve. In fact, I prepare our breakfast, eat lunch out, and shop for the take-out we have for dinner. Jonathan has lunch with people from his office. At this point we're not eating anything Mrs. O'Hara prepares.”

“All right. Let's tour the house first, then we'll evict the witches.”

“I know you're making fun, but I think they
are
witches, or at least they're evil. They frighten me,” Dinah said.

Coleman shook her head. “I'm not making fun of you. This house has a bad feeling. I think ugly things have happened here. The women are a part of it. The sooner we get rid of them, the better. It's good that the outside of the house hasn't been infected with whatever is wrong inside. I like the exterior—the blue shutters and the purple flowers in the window boxes against the white façade are very attractive. The foyer is nice, too. That big vase is beautiful, and the little table is a very handsome piece.”

“I agree. I think Jane Ross, the owner of the house, must have designed the exterior. And that's her vase in the foyer,” Dinah said.

“What about this beautiful antique furniture? Surely it isn't hers. Didn't you tell me she was poor?”

“Yes. James, our driver, who's known her for a long time, says she has very little money. I have no idea who owns the furniture. I've never thought about it, or even looked at the furniture except to dust it. I don't know anything about antiques. I didn't know you did, either. It's not like we grew up with them,” Dinah said.

Coleman smiled, remembering the empty rooms in their childhood home. Four Oaks, the big old house in North Carolina where they lived as children with their grandmother and aunt, was almost empty of furniture. The old ladies had been forced to sell nearly everything they owned. Most of the rooms held only dust bunnies. Coleman and Dinah had loved their grandmother and aunt, and had worked with them to support their little family. They had never missed the antiques that once decorated the house.

“We certainly didn't. I've been studying furniture for
First Home
, both antiques and reproductions. I don't know a lot yet, but some of these pieces are rare. I've seen museum pictures of furniture like them. I think all the furniture in here is valuable,” Coleman said.

She strolled through the drawing room and dining room, pausing occasionally to examine a chair or a table, bookcase or desk. “Didn't you tell me these rooms were crammed with furniture, and filthy dirty? Everything looks look clean to me, and the amount of furniture is just right,” Coleman said.

“Yes, but we removed all the excess furniture, and cleaned these rooms to get ready for you,” Dinah said.

“What did you do with the extra furniture?” Coleman asked.

“It's upstairs. Why do you ask?”

“I'd like to look at the rest of the furniture—see if it is as good as the pieces downstairs. But before we go upstairs, what do you know about this painting?” Coleman stopped in front of one of the few paintings she had seen in her stroll through the house.

Dinah shrugged. “It's dark and dull. I kept a few paintings downstairs, because the walls are so bare without them, but I dislike all of them, and most of them are upstairs with the furniture.”

“I think this dull and dark painting is hiding another very valuable painting. Come here: Look at the paint curling back here. Do you have a flashlight?”

“I have a torch,” Dinah said. “I tried for a while to buy a flashlight and was unable to find one until someone told me to ask for a torch. I'll get it for you, but first tell me how you knew to look for that peeling paint.”

Coleman smiled. “Is that what they call it? A flashlight is a torch? Live and learn. Another word for my English collection. As to how I knew to look for the peeling paint, I read an article about thieves disguising stolen paintings by painting over them with easily removable paint. I need the flashlight to try to see the picture underneath.”

Dinah left the room, returned with the flashlight, and handed it to Coleman, who focused the light on the curling paint.

“See? Where the paint has curled back, you can see another painting under this one,” Coleman said.

“But you can't see it very well. It might be as bad as the top one. Why do you think it's valuable?” Dinah asked.

“Because the frame is valuable. It's made of tortoiseshell, and it's in very good shape. Tortoiseshell is no longer used for frames—its trade was banned worldwide in 1973. When it
was
used, it was expensive and fragile. This frame has been cared for. I'm sure there's a treasured painting under the top picture. And this isn't the only painting with an expensive frame. I've looked at the other three paintings on this floor and they're all in valuable frames. Come look at them with the torch.”

They moved across the room, where Coleman again used the flashlight to point out details. “I'm pretty sure these are Pre-Raphaelite designs. The frame manufacturer incorporated geometric forms—triangles, circles, and squares in the design on this one. I'd guess the frame was made about 1855. This one is in Rossetti's ‘thumb-mark pattern.' And this one, carved in wood, looks like whoever made the frame was trying to imitate Grinling Gibbons. Hard to do, time consuming, and expensive. These frames are amazing. How many paintings are upstairs?” Coleman asked.

“Maybe twenty. How do you know so much about frames?” Dinah said.

“The same answer: I studied them for
First Home
. It's a fascinating specialty in the art world. Could you have someone bring the paintings down here, where they can be easily examined?”

“Sure. James and Franklin can do it. Where do you want them?”

“On the floor in the dining room, leaning against the wall,” Coleman said. “Let's go upstairs and take a look at the furniture before you have the paintings brought down.”

Dinah led the way, and with only a glance in each of the rooms, Coleman knew that the furniture was valuable. None of the paintings was accessible, so she couldn't get a good look at them, but even from a distance the frames were impressive. She should call Heyward. He'd be waiting to hear from her. She reached him immediately.

“Heyward, it's just as we thought—this place is full of valuable antiques. They must be stolen: Dinah says the woman who owns the house has financial problems. I'm sure she'd have sold the furniture if she owned it. In addition to the furniture, I think there may be more than twenty valuable paintings here. This is a big find, much bigger than I anticipated. I think it's time for you to send in the art and antiques cops. Send a painting specialist, too. I've had all the pictures put in the dining room to make it easy to look at them. I'd like to examine them myself, but I think it should be done by an expert.

“Please urge the police to come right away. The news that we've discovered stolen goods in this house will spread fast. Dinah and I are on the way to the kitchen to dismiss the servants. They'll soon be in touch with their masters. I'll call you again after we're rid of them, and before we leave here.”

Friday, May, London

Coleman, with Dolly under her left arm and Dinah beside her, walked into the kitchen and looked around.

Mrs. O'Hara, Mrs. Malone, and two other women were sitting at the table slurping up their elevenses, which appeared to be a huge assortment of sweets. Coleman spotted a fruitcake, cookies, and two pies, as well as bowls full of something topped with mountains of whipped cream.

Mrs. O'Hara stood up when she saw Coleman. “Get that dog out of my kitchen,” she ordered.

“I certainly will. She's a very valuable animal, and she could sicken from the filth in this room. I've never seen anything so disgusting.” Coleman was taking pictures of the kitchen and its occupants with her iPhone while she spoke. When she had finished, she stood still, staring at the women. Mrs. O'Hara had turned purple, and looked as if she were about to scream at Coleman, or physically attack her. But before she could make a sound, or move, Coleman transformed herself into a different person. She stood up tall, deepened and sharpened her soft voice, and radiated authority.

“Stand up, both of you, and remain standing, as you should when the mistress of the house enters the room,” she ordered. “Now that you are on your feet, listen to me carefully. Go upstairs, pack your things, and leave this house immediately. I do not want to have to repeat myself: Go! You will be very sorry if you don't.”

She held up her right hand. “And don't bother telling me that you report only to Mr. Ross. We are on the way to see Mr. Ross, with photographs of this filthy kitchen, and ‘before' pictures of the drawing room and living room, when they were so dirty, because you weren't doing your jobs. We'll show him pictures of you sitting around stuffing yourselves—as you are today—rather than working. When he has heard all we have to say, he will apologize for burdening the Hathaways with the likes of you, especially when he's told that the house is full of stolen antique furniture and paintings, and that you are a part of the criminal ring that brought them here.

“After we see Mr. Ross, we are going out for lunch. When we return, you will have left this house. Do not take anything with you that isn't yours. We have an inventory of every item. I am sure crimes have been committed here—theft, at the very least, but possibly far worse. The police will be here in minutes. They will search this house and fingerprint everything in it. You will be arrested if they find you here.”

Coleman turned and strolled out of the kitchen. Dinah, with a big smile on her face, followed her.

“How'd you get so big and bossy?” Dinah asked.

“Practice. I've had to fire a fair number of people in the last year or so,” Coleman said.

“How can you be sure the police will come so quickly?” Dinah asked.

“On the plane from Paris, I told Heyward I thought there had to be a reason the servants were behaving as they were. The logical explanation was that they wanted you to move out. I thought they might be doing something they needed to hide: drugs? Stolen goods? Now that I've seen the furniture and the picture frames, I'm sure they're hiding stolen antique furniture and art. I just spoke to Heyward—you heard what I said. He'll do the rest. I promised to call him again when we were leaving the house. I should do that now,” Coleman said. She took out her cell phone.

“Heyward? The witches have been evicted, and Dinah and I are headed to see Mr. Ross, and then to lunch. Please call Jonathan, let him know what's going on. Tell him Dinah and I are going out to lunch to celebrate. Make sure he knows the women working here are criminals.” She smiled at Dinah, who smiled back, and pretended to clap her hands.

“I'm sending your car and driver back to your house. We're using Dinah's car. James, her driver, will take care of Dolly while we eat. After lunch, I'm coming home to take a nap. I need some beauty sleep before the party.”

Coleman hung up, and turned to Dinah. “Now that I've told the old bats to pack up and get out, you should call James and ask him to rehire—what was his name?”

“Franklin,” said Dinah.

“Yes, Franklin, to join your butler—Hamilton?”

Dinah nodded.

“They can watch the women leave, and make sure they don't try to steal the paintings or other portable items,” Coleman said. “James can call Franklin while he is driving us to meet with Mr. Ross. You should also ask James how many other people are needed to run his house. Obviously, you need a cook.”

“I'd rather do it myself,” Dinah protested.

Coleman shook her head. “No, Jonathan's right. You should have a cook—a
good
English cook. You're going to be very busy when you start work. Anyway, I want to talk to you about a project I have in mind. You'll need a cook.”

Dinah looked mystified, but cheerful.

“I'm ready to go, but I want you to change clothes,” Coleman said. “I bet you've been wearing black every day. Am I right?”

Dinah nodded. “I've been too miserable to care what I wore. Black suited my mood.”

“Well, it's time to change into something more cheerful.”

Dinah laughed. “Okay. I'll be back in fifteen minutes.”

She reappeared in a lemon-yellow dress with a matching jacket, looking like a ray of sunshine. “Will this do?” she asked.