Page 45 of Thief of the Ton
“I had Bunting bring these over from my country seat,” he said. “They say that Pater acquired the piece at Griffin & Sons—have you heard of them?”
Peregrine nodded. Then he glanced over the front sheet.
Griffin & Sons, Bond Street
Bill of Sale September 17th, 1800
Lot 120. One ginger jar, presumed 13thcentury, Yuan Dynasty, ceramic, complete with lid, decorated in blue
Hammer price: two shillings
Auctioneer’s commission: sixpence
Total to pay: two and six
“Half a crown,” Peregrine said. “Is that all? A genuine Yuan Dynasty piece would be expected to secure significantly more at auction.”
“Perhaps there were no other bidders,” Lord Francis suggested.
“Unlikely, given that Griffin & Sons is one of the foremost auction houses in town. Collectors travel from all over the country to attend their sales.”
“Perhaps it was a fake.”
“Even less likely,” Peregrine said. “Mr. Griffin’s an expert in his field, and he’d never risk a lawsuit by offering an item for sale were its authenticity in doubt. No—your late father was either exceedingly fortunate, or…”
His voice trailed off as his train of thought split into two, considering the possibilities, then split again at each step, until an array of scenarios stretched before him. But none of them made sense. While this was, most likely, a routine case of theft, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind that something was amiss. And, in his experience of investigating the disappearance of antiquities, the voice of doubt should always be heeded.
He might have dismissed a piece bought at auction for a vastly reduced price compared to its value. He might equally have dismissed a theft of a single item in a vast residence. But both together? He did not believe in coincidences.
“You look like a bloodhound that’s picked up a scent,” Lord Francis said.
Peregrine traced the words on the page with his fingertips. “Perhaps. The Phoenix must have a motive. Mayhap this vase is the key to discovering it.”
“George!” Lady Francis cried, leaping to her feet. Peregrine and Lord Francis followed suit.
“What is it, my dear?” Lord Francis asked.
“Shouldn’t you be at the House this morning? I swear you told me there was a bill on servants’ rights that you intended to vote on.”
“That’s not until later this week.”
“You should still make an appearance,” she said, “to persuade those who are as yet undecided to listen to your viewpoint.” She moved toward him. “You know how good you are at presenting an argument.”
He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth. “My dear, if I didn’t know you better, I’d wonder if you weren’t trying to rid yourself of me for the day.”
“I’m thinking ofyou, my dear.”
Lord Francis drew out his pocket watch, nodded, then snapped it shut. “Would you excuse me, Marlow?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Please don’t leave on my husband’s account, Lord Marlow,” Lady Francis said. “You’ve not finished your tea.”
“Yes, do keep my wife company,” Francis said. “I’m afraid I always abandon her when a matter at the House piques my interest.”
After Francis had exited the parlor, Lady Francis resumed her seat, and Peregrine did likewise.
She set her teacup aside, rattling the crockery as her hand shook. “I’m afraid I must beg your forgiveness, Lord Marlow.”
