Chapter 7

C hapter 7

My continuing search of nearby pawnshops proved fruitless. All the theatrics and clever thinking in the world could not produce evidence when there was none.

In the late afternoon, I found myself a few minutes’ walk from the Harwoods’ home and decided to update Elizabeth. Not that there was much to tell her since I’d seen her the morning previous, but perhaps I could ease her mind a little.

The footman let me in and went to find Elizabeth. I waited in the entry hall, familiar to me now but no less impressive. Marble floors, elaborately carved woodwork, gilded mirrors. It was all very untouchable.

I tugged open my reticule and retrieved my sketch of the thief, leaning against the wall as I inspected it again. It was odd that no one had recognized him. All those I’d spoken to today were local to Covent Garden and the surrounding area. Did that mean the thief was a newer resident?

My eyes moved over the sketch, taking in the details of his eyes and jaw, then I paused. I let my thoughts drift back to the night of the theft. Hadn’t the man had large bags beneath his eyes?

I fished in my reticule for my pencil and bent over a small table nearby. My pencil flew across the paper, adding drooping shadows beneath the man’s shrewd gaze. It was a small change, but every detail was important. I was so involved in my sketch that I did not hear the footsteps from within the drawing room until the door opened behind me.

“Miss Travers!”

I straightened, paper and pencil in hand, to see Lady Harwood standing in the open doorway, looking at me in surprise. “What a pleasure to see you. Elizabeth did not tell me you were coming.”

I hid the sketch behind my back. “Oh, it was a spontaneous visit. I wanted to look in on her, see that she was well.”

Lady Harwood’s eyes dimmed slightly. “Yes, of course.”

Then she glanced behind her and made a tutting noise. “Dear me, I’m being terribly rude. Mr. Allett, do come out, and I shall make introductions.”

I furrowed my brow. Allett. How did I know that name?

Lady Harwood moved aside, and a man stepped into the doorway. He was smartly dressed in a fawn jacket and green waistcoat, all impeccably tailored, but my eyes were drawn to his face. Oh, but it was a fascinating face. Intelligent eyes, clear blue and focused. A short, sharp nose, slightly off center, and a slight jaw sporting a neatly trimmed beard. His dark hair was speckled with gray, and I guessed him to be around forty-five years of age. He adjusted a leather case in his hand, his long, slender fingers dappled with ... paint?

“Miss Travers, might I introduce Mr. Lucas Allett,” Lady Harwood said, gesturing to her guest. “Mr. Allett, this is Miss Verity Travers, a dear friend of Elizabeth’s.”

Mr. Allett bowed smartly, his movements crisp. “A pleasure, Miss Travers.”

I curtsied in return. “The same to you, sir.”

Lady Harwood clasped her hands before her. “Mr. Allett was here working on Elizabeth’s portrait. I’ve just sent her upstairs to change.”

“Portrait?” Suddenly, his name collided with all the details I’d gathered. “Oh! You are the Lucas Allett, the portraitist?”

Mr. Allett smiled politely. “The very one.”

That explained the beard. I’d heard he had studied in Italy, so perhaps he’d adopted their styles before returning to England to pursue his career.

“We were ever so pleased to snatch him up,” Lady Harwood said. “He is always booked months in advance. But I was determined to have this portrait finished before Elizabeth marries.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Allett said. “Her ladyship was quite persistent.”

As he spoke, my ears caught on the slightest inflection in his voice, as though he were trying to hide a less respectable accent with a smoother, more genteel one. It made me appraise him differently. If I guessed correctly, he wasn’t born to wealth and privilege like the Harwoods. He was like me, attempting to hold a mirage long enough to be accepted.

“Mr. Allett, if you’ll just wait a moment,” Lady Harwood said, “I’ll fetch that book I mentioned. Perhaps you might speak with Miss Travers.”

She was gone in a flutter of skirts, leaving the two of us alone in the entry. It was an opportunity I would not squander.

“It is truly a pleasure to meet you, sir,” I said sincerely. “I’ve seen your work before. It is astounding. The way you capture light, and the brush of silk against skin ...”

Mr. Allett watched me curiously. “You speak like an artist yourself.”

I gave a skitter of a laugh. “Oh, goodness no. That is, I sketch every now and again. I certainly would never call myself an artist.”

“And a sketch is not art?” he asked.

I drew back my chin. “Well, not like your work.”

“It is not work.” He spoke matter-of-factly, gaze unrelenting. “It is a passion, no matter the medium or subject. If you create, you are an artist.”

I swallowed hard, his words piercing. I’d never thought of my drawing like that. It had always been a simple pastime, a parlor trick, a luxury if I found the time for it. I’d certainly never considered myself an artist, not like him.

It was then that I looked down at myself and remembered what I was wearing. Heavens, if I’d known I’d be meeting one of London’s premier artists today, I surely would have changed before coming. I tugged at my plain walking dress, the sketch in my hand crinkling as I moved.

His eyes flicked to the sketch. “Is that one of your drawings?”

I froze. “No. No, this is—”

He stepped forward without warning and pulled it from my fingers. He held it up to the afternoon light, inspecting the lines of my sketch with critical eyes. My mouth dropped open, but I closed it abruptly and waited, not breathing.

Mr. Allett looked at me. “This is very good, Miss Travers. Very good, indeed.”

I let out my breath all in a rush. Did he truly think so, or was he being polite?

He returned the paper to me, eyeing me with interest. “Have you had any formal training?”

I shook my head, folding the sketch. “Only briefly at school. Nothing substantial.”

Lady Harwood reappeared with a smile. I counted myself lucky that she’d been gone while he’d inspected my drawing, or else she might have wondered as to the reason I had sketched the thief.

“Here you are, Mr. Allett,” she said, handing him a book. “We will see you tomorrow night for the unveiling?”

“Of course,” he said. “Will the young Miss Travers be attending as well?”

I nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes. I am most eager to see The Woman in Red . It has been a favorite of mine since I purchased a print of it a few years ago.”

I did not tell Mr. Allett how often I’d tried to re-create the famous painting, my print tucked carefully into a leather-bound album with the rest of my collection. He did not need to know of those disastrous attempts.

Mr. Allett tipped his head slightly, peering at me as if to see beyond my words and into my thoughts, but said nothing.

“Wonderful.” Lady Harwood clapped her hands together. “It will be a happy gathering, I’ve no doubt.”

She turned to speak to a passing footman about fetching Mr. Allett’s things, and he took the opportunity to step closer to me, hands clasping his case behind his back. “Perhaps, Miss Travers,” he said, “you might bring a few of your other sketches tomorrow night. I am always looking for bright young minds to mentor.”

I nearly choked. Lucas Allett wanted to see my work? “I ... I should be honored, sir.”

He leveled a serious look at me. “Your very best, mind you. Pieces that are representative of who you are as an artist.”

What on earth did that mean? “Naturally,” I managed.

The footman returned with Mr. Allett’s hat and gloves, and he donned them, bid Lady Harwood farewell, and turned to me. “Until tomorrow, Miss Travers.”

After he left, Lady Harwood sighed. “What a gracious man. And such talent.”

“Indeed,” I easily agreed.

“Come now,” she said, ushering me into the parlor. “I will send a maid for Elizabeth, and we shall have tea, yes?”

I could hardly refuse, even though I wanted to speak to Elizabeth in private. As we seated ourselves and she chattered on about the portrait unveiling tomorrow evening, I could not seem to focus on her words. All I could think of was that Mr. Lucas Allett had seen my drawing and thought it “very good.” He wanted to see more. He was considering mentoring me.

I tried to contain my excitement, rein it in before it made a fool of me. Mr. Allett had expressed a desire to see more, that was all. He hadn’t promised anything. And yet my mind leaped ahead, picturing a new path for me, wherein I became a famous portraitist, capturing images of England’s elite and rich, claiming my own space in the world.

I couldn’t help but linger on that vision. What a life that could be, even if it weren’t the one I’d imagined for so long.

After all, when I finished this case for Elizabeth, I would be done. I’d promised myself and Mama. I would need something else to grasp on to, to keep me afloat.

Perhaps this chance with Mr. Allett was precisely what I needed.