Page 52 of Betrayal from Beyond
“I do look forward to spending more time with him. But just now, I’m ready to go and squeeze in to see Mr. Sculley’s work. I only saw the Lord Palmerston the other day.”
“The one depicting Dickens running down a hopelessly twisted path, spouting flowers out of his mouth, has some of his fans up in arms,” Gyda told her.
“Did you know that Sculley is the artist who lives in the same building as Tom Hawkins? The same one we met that night?”
“What? No.” Gyda glanced toward the far corner, where the crowds still gathered around his work. “We knew he would prove to be popular. Ansel says it is sure to get the museum mentioned in the papers.”
“Let’s hope it draws the public in, then,” said Kara. “And let’s hope I can find the man and have a word with him. I’d like to ask him if he’s noticed any activity around those rooms.”
“Come along. He’s likely lurking about, listening for reactions to his work and revealing himself as the artist. He seems the sort to enjoy the attention.”
They started toward the crowded corner.
“Oh, look! There he is. Mr. Sculley!” Kara called.
But the artist did not respond.
“What’s wrong with him? Why is he being so rude?” Gyda said, exasperated.
The man was pushing his way into the crowd toward the wall, shoving people out of his way. Drinks were spilled. Protests rang out. Ladies shrieked in indignation. Sculley ignored them all. He thrust his way through to the wall and began to take down one of the paintings.
“Here, now!” Gyda started toward the commotion. “Stop that! You understood the arrangement, sir! The art stays throughout the length of the contract you signed with the museum!”
Sculley looked over his shoulder at her as disgruntled viewers began to drift away. “No, no.” His eyes were wide. “Not this one.”
“If you have an offer to purchase it, sir, you can make the sale when your agreement with the museum is over,” Gyda declared. “That was the arrangement.”
He yanked the painting down. “No. You don’t understand. I made a mistake. I should never have—”
“I’m going to get Charles!” Gyda announced, spinning away.
“I’ve no choice in the matter!” Sculley shouted after her.
“Hold a moment, sir. I don’t know what has upset you, but I need a moment of your time.” Kara had followed, and now she craned her head to get a look at the painting. She thought it was a depiction of the legend of Osiris and Set. Egyptian lore was not one of her strong points, but she knew enough to recognize the battle between the Egyptian gods. “Oh,” she said, surprised. “You’ve made them both into women, haven’t you?”
Osiris’s typically mummified legs had been transformed into white skirts. Her elongated crown was slipping off, and she brandished her crook and flail at her opponent. For her part, Set was aiming a staff at her enemy. Her typical jackal-like features had been pushed back, as if they were a mask, revealing the woman’s ferocious scowl as she battled…herself. Kara realized both the figures wore the same face.
Wait…
“Mr. Sculley!” Her voice rang with force and authority. “Give me that painting!”
“No! Oh, no,” he moaned. He looked utterly panicked. “You mustn’t. Just let me go without a fuss or—”
Kara snatched the painting away from him. She knew that face.Bothof those faces. “I’ve got to find Niall,” she muttered, turning away from the back corner. A few people were still looking at Sculley’s paintings, but most had moved off in a huff. Kara, still staring at the painting, began to stride toward the last place she’d seen her husband.
But as she stepped away from the corner, she didn’t find Niall. Instead, a maid stopped right in front of her, an empty tray in hand.
Not a maid.
Kara retreated. “Petra Scot,” she said quietly.
Chapter Fourteen
“Damn the manand his artist’s vanity,” Petra said as she raised the forward end of the tray to display the gun she held underneath. “I told him under no circumstances could he show my image.” She glared at the painting Kara held. “He’ll need punishing.”
“You are not dead after all,” said Kara.
“Congratulations on your stunning grasp of the obvious.”
