Page 13 of The Shooting Season

“He stated that you were the sodomite who led his son and heir astray, therefore you are not worthy of owning any of his treasures.”

My eyes widened. “Whaat? He stated that in his Will?” Since The Principal Probate Registry was established in 1858 a copy of every Will proved in England or Wales was on record. If any of my enemies decided to look into my past, connected me with Euan and saw that clause in Lord Ardmillan’s Will my guilty secret could be made public, and the shame would ruin me. What I could not fathom was why the Late Lord abhorred me so. I had been a thoughtful guest when invited for the shooting season. I had not gotten underfoot of him and his high and mighty friends. I wondered, had we been indiscrete and found out? Euan never said anything about exposure to me. Could this be the true reason why Euan disposed of me some weeks later and never spoke a word to me for years afterward? The whole situation confused me greatly.

“Why would I be invited here if I was not—ahh!” The penny dropped. Euan had a desperate issue that he wanted to fix and he’d decided that as his ex-lover and confidant, I was the man to help him. He had invited me privately because his father was no longer around to look down upon his choice of intimates, and also so that I could attend to his ritual. Damn the man! Damn him to hell with his father.

“Did you not notice the look that passed between Lord Ardmillan and Mr. Buchanan at dinner? When introduced to you the solicitor appeared vexed, to say the least. No matter what, it is intended that you will leave this house empty-handed. The solicitor will ensure that you are unable to purchase the Staff of Asklepios or anything else from the collection.”

Little did Cavell know that the Staff was no longer for sale, or so I’d been told? I did not know the truth of this matter but Euan’s over-friendly behavior today had unsettled me. We had initially parted in the most distressing manner and not kept in touch for the longest of times. And then on reacquainting, Euan was back to slipping into my bed as if we were reckless boys again. This was not lordly behavior, and there was a touch of desperation in the way he had seduced me. Euan needed me to be compliant. He needed to be in my good graces as he believed I would be able to help restore his virility. Maybe giving me the Staff as a gift would circumnavigate the clause in the Will, and Euan had been too worried to tell of his father’s hatred of me? Just as I was near convinced that Cavell was a lying scoundrel and Euan was trying his best to please me and adhere to the contents of the Will, Cavell said,

“There is more—”

Oh Gods, no! I took a gulp of Port to steady my nerves.

“Am I correct in my belief that Lord Euan wishes you to sell canvases from his father’s Fine Art collection?”

I had spoken to Euan about this only once, and arrangements had not yet been finalized.

“How do you know of this?”

“That, I cannot divulge. But it is true, yes?”

“There was talk of thinning out the art collection, yes. Where are you going with this, man? It is late and I must be abed.” Part of me wanted to believe that Sebastian Cavell was a fraud and he was pouring poison in my ear so that I would doubt my oldest friend, and in turn, he would make a killing at the auction.

“I know people… friends in…shall we say, low places. I have it on good authority that the Late Lord Ardmillan amassed a mountain of debt when his Military days were over. He could not live up to the myth he had created, and so, in desperate need of funds he employed a forger by the name of Andreas Milieux. Several of the Old Masters from the Ardmillan collection are in fact counterfeit.”

“No!” As an auctioneer, I had dealt with many a counterfeit item in my time. I have a practiced eye and an encyclopedic knowledge of artists, techniques, and mediums. I was keen to take a look at the paintings and judge for myself.

“The originals were shipped to the U.S.A and sold at auction in Los Angeles, California seven years ago.”

“You have no proof!”

“I have seen the shipping dockets.”

“Why should I trust a damnable word you’re saying?“ My mind was reeling, not just from the amount of wine I had quaffed this chilly eve, but from the implications of what Sebastian Cavell was telling me. Had Euan’s nature changed so much that he would willfully try to swindle me?

“I’ll let you into a little secret.” Cavell twisted the tips of his waxed mustache. “As you are aware I am here in the guise of Artur Engles—a buyer for a Berlin auction house. The real Mr. Engles is at a sanatorium in the Swiss Alps recovering from Tuberculosis, but Mr. Buchanan has never met the man, and he wasn’t to know that.”

I had read in the newspaper that physicians were now suggesting a brand new treatment for Tuberculosis which included cold, clear air, high altitude, and healthy meals to assist those who suffered to recover, so this was plausible.

“I took on this guise because I was commissioned to steal the Tipu Sultan’s Tiger Head ornament.” I was about to share my outrage at this revelation but Cavell held his hand up to silence me.

“However, that plan has been abandoned.”

“Why? Has the famous Sebastian Cavell found his conscience?” I mocked.

Cavell let out a withering laugh.

“No, dear heart. Because on perusal of the item that was displayed this evening, I noticed several things that were, shall we say, off… chiefly, the verity that the gems embedded in the gold Tigers head are in fact paste. The smaller, less expensive jewels are genuine; however, the rubies and sapphires are most certainly imitations.”

I was confused and horrified. Several gem experts were on my payroll at my auction house. Their job was to ensure precious stones listed for sale by Hannan’s were genuine. Forgers are indeed highly skilled individuals and Hannan’s had been fooled several times. I don’t know of an auctioneer who hasn’t accidentally sold a counterfeit item.

“Now, the entire ornament could be counterfeit and the genuine stones added to give a touch of authenticity. Or the genuine Tiger's head was brutalized to remove and replace genuine stones with glass imitations.”

I was aghast at the thought of Lord Ardmillan having someone deface such a historic artifact, and as if Cavell could read my thoughts he said,

“I believe that whatever happened to the Tigers' head was carried out in the time of Lord Percival Ardmillan. I do not believe Euan knows that the Tipu Sultan’s Tiger Head he is attempting to sell is an imitation.” I was relieved to hear this.

“However, when it comes to the art collection, I truly believe that Euan Ardmillan knows of his father’s deceit and played a part in it.”