20

At last the day of my meeting with Mr. Attewater arrived. Our rendezvous, which proved more educational than I could have imagined, began outside the museum, where we sat on a bench for nearly half an hour talking before we went inside. As I listed the items I wanted to look at with him, he immediately recognized each and assured me that he knew their locations in the gallery.

He seemed completely at ease in the British Museum and knew the Greco-Roman collection in great detail. He had an unmistakable admiration for his ancient colleagues and clearly considered himself to be their equal.

"I must admit that you surprised me in Paris, Lady Ashton, when you said that you could see beauty in copies. It is an opinion so unlike that of your husband."

"You told me you did not know him well," I replied, trying not to look down at my companion, who stood several inches shorter than myself.

"No, I did not. Lord Ashton had no interest in my work. As you surely know, he purchased only originals."

"Yes, Mr. Attewater. I am keenly aware of that."

He led me to the first item on my list, the bronze statue Ivy had found so amusing. "I do not work with bronze much. There are a huge number of chemicals one can use to achieve just the right patina on metal, but I prefer the feel of marble. Nonetheless"-he paused as he circled the case wherein the statue rested-"I did produce a copy of this for one of my...er, patrons."

"Mr. Attewater, I remember you said in Paris that your work can be found in some of the world's best museums. Is that true?"

"It is, Lady Ashton."

"Did you make this statue?"

He peered closely at the figure, pulling a magnifying glass out of his coat pocket and examining as best he could the cloak hanging over the figure's arm.

"Yes! That is mine!" he exclaimed.

I admonished him to speak more quietly, hoping that no one else in the gallery had noticed his outburst.

"There is no question about it." He polished the magnifying glass on his waistcoat and beamed proudly as he looked at the statue. "I left a mark on the underside of the cloak. Take a look." He handed me the glass, and I peered at the cloak. Although barely visible, they could be seen: two tiny Greek alphas.

"A.A.," he said, smiling. "My initials."

"Yes, I understand." I nodded slightly.

I ushered him away from the statue, not wanting to draw anyone's attention. As we continued from piece to piece, the reaction was the same. Mr. Attewater recognized all of them as his own work and on many was able to show me his hidden double alphas. I grew more and more depressed as I realized that every artifact currently in my country library was something that belonged in the British Museum. Apollo, it appeared, was not an anomaly.

"Don't you worry," I asked my companion as softly as I could, "that someone at the museum will notice your alphas? Surely the penalty for such an offense is great?"

"Lady Ashton, I assure you I have done nothing wrong. I have been commissioned on numerous occasions to copy pieces from the venerable halls of this museum. As you have seen, I produce them to the best of my abilities and collect my payment. What the purchaser chooses to do with them is none of my concern."

"But surely you knew what was going on." I could not believe that Mr. Attewater was entirely innocent in the matter.

"My art, Lady Ashton, has been largely unappreciated by the public from the time I began to sculpt. After years of trying to succeed on my own, I realized that I could earn enough money to keep my studio by copying antiquities. Is that a crime? I have never received outrageous payment for any of my works. Believe me, were I to sell them as originals, they would command far higher prices. Furthermore, if I were going to attempt to deceive a buyer about the origin of a piece, I obviously would not sign it."

I looked at Mr. Attewater's worn but well-cared-for suit, noted his dignified manner, and found myself believing him. Here stood a man who wanted to be great; if he had money, he would spend it and not wear something so decidedly out-of-date.

"Why would a person come to you instead of using the museum's casting service?"

"They do not offer reproductions of every piece in the museum. Furthermore, I work much more quickly than they do."

"Yet if your clients are, as it seems, replacing original antiquities with your copies, don't you worry that someone in the museum will notice your initials and hold you responsible for the crime?"

"These pieces have been here for years. Their provenances were verified and the objects examined thoroughly before the museum purchased them. No one has a reason to doubt them now. The experts did all their work on the true originals."

"How does one go about copying the originals?"

"All I need are the precise dimensions of an object and a good sketch. I can get that in a relatively short period of time. My patrons would get me into the museum after hours. It's not as difficult as you might think."

"It's a very clever scheme," I admitted, and looked at Mr. Attewater. "Doesn't it bother you that others are profiting from your work when you receive so little?"

"I get enough." We passed a bust of Julius Caesar. "That is not mine," he whispered, "but it is clearly a fake. The dark color of the marble is achieved through liberal application of tobacco juice, and the pits over the surface come from banging on the sculpture with a brush with metal spikes. It works beautifully."

"Amazing," I said, looking at poor Caesar. "But how can you tell it is not authentic?"

"The beauty of a forgery, Lady Ashton, is that there typically is no definitive proof. But here the artist was not an expert." He motioned to the area between Caesar's eye and his hair. "The surface is perfect wherever there is a contour. Everywhere else is pitted to make the marble look aged. I would not have made such a mistake."

"But you do not make sculptures designed to deceive, Mr. Attewater." I raised my eyebrow and smiled at him.

"Touché, Lady Ashton," he replied, bowing slightly to me.

I decided to ask him directly the question that was plaguing me. "Did my husband hire you to make the copies you have shown me?" He did not answer. "Please, you must tell me. I need to know his involvement in this scheme. Did he plan it?"

"I am afraid that I cannot reveal the names of my patrons. I should never work again."

"But you say you are a legitimate artist."

"I am." He began peering at Caesar through his magnifying glass. "But my customers do not always share my scruples." He stood as straight as possible and looked directly at me. "I can, however, ease your mind on one point. I have never done any work for Lord Ashton."

"Thank you, Mr. Attewater." I sighed. "But that does not mean he did not plan this intrigue. It is possible that he had an underling deal with you."

"I had not thought of that," he replied. "However, my buyer is a respected gentleman whom I would not expect to do someone's bidding, so perhaps all Lord Ashton did was buy the stolen originals."

"One hardly knows what to think, but either way it does not look good for Philip," I said. "Why have you told me all this, Mr. Attewater? Don't you fear exposure?"

"I have nothing to fear, Lady Ashton. I have done nothing wrong." He smiled slyly.

"I like you, Mr. Attewater," I said as we continued our stroll through the museum. "I want to commission a work by you."

"I am immensely honored, Lady Ashton. What would you like me to copy?"

"I don't want a copy, Mr. Attewater. I want you to design me an original of your own in the classical Greek style. I like your work and want to see what you can do when not constrained by having to copy something else."

"Do you want it to look ancient?" he asked, his eyes full of light.

"No, do no deliberate damage. I shall not hide the fact that the piece is modern."

"Thank you, Lady Ashton," he said with great dignity. "I shall not disappoint you."

"You're welcome, Mr. Attewater. Perhaps we can get you a more legitimate following of admirers." As I smiled at him, I saw Arthur Palmer rushing past us. "Good day, Mr. Palmer," I called to him. "What brings you to the museum today?"

"Good day, Lady Ashton, Attewater." He nodded briefly at my companion. "I am to meet Arabella and her mother. If you'll excuse me, I am late." He rushed off almost before I could bid him farewell. He had the nervous look I recognized as one of a man about to propose.

"I shall have to call on Arabella tomorrow," I said to no one in particular. "Perhaps I shall have need for your services again, Mr. Attewater, for a wedding gift."

"Your kindness makes me feel that I must confess one indiscretion in my past."

"There is no need to do so, I assure you," I answered.

"Please, follow me." He led me through gallery after gallery until we stopped before a fragment of an Athenian frieze depicting the head of a young man. "Do you like this?"

"It's lovely."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Now he took me to the room that held the Elgin Marbles. "Here." He motioned to an object labeled as Slab IV of the North Frieze of the Parthenon. "Look closely. Is anything familiar?"

"Should the other piece be in this room, too? Is it from the Parthenon? It almost looks as if it belongs with this section," I said.

"You are close to the truth. If you have finished with the museum today, I should very much like to tell you something about these two pieces once we step outside."