Page 99 of Thief of the Ton
Peregrine lifted the object out of the fireplace and pulled away the wrapping paper to reveal the portrait inside.
“Well—I’ll be damned!” Hythe cried.
At close quarters, the original Lely painting was even more exquisite than Peregrine remembered. And though it was different to the copy, the likeness between the two was remarkable.
How the devil did you do it, my friend?
“Is it the original?” Houseman asked.
“Of course it is!” Hythe exclaimed. “I’d swear on the fifth Lady Hythe’s grave.”
“Then we’re no closer to catching the Phoenix,” Houseman said. “Nothing’s been stolen.”
“We can’t be sure of that,” Peregrine said. “The Phoenix left his calling card, and each time he strikes, an item goes missing.”
“But the painting’s been found,” Hythe said. “And while I’d like to horsewhip the man from here to Inverness, I’m only relieved that I’m not on his list of victims.”
“Not as far as you know,” Peregrine said.
The Phoenix must have planned this for some time. But for what purpose? He’d thrown everyone off the scent by making them all believe that the Lely painting had been stolen. Then he’d done it again, by sending the fake to Moss. Why would he create so many diversions?
Unless…
“Lord Hythe,” Peregrine said. “Has anything else gone missing in the past few days?”
“Not that I’m aware of, Marlow, but we have a large estate here. It’s unlikely that we’d notice anything missing for some time.”
“It might be something very particular,” Peregrine said, “given that our friend went to such trouble to steer us in another direction. I believe he’s taking objects that have a particular meaning.”
“Such as?”
“Lord Francis, of course, had a ginger jar stolen at the beginning of the season.”
“Aginger jar, you say?” Hythe said. “Now, what does that remind me of?”
“And the sword,” Houseman said.
“A sword?” Hythe’s eyes widened.
“Lord Caldicott had a Medieval sword stolen.”
“And there’s the apostle spoons taken from the regent’s Brighton residence,” Houseman said. “A heinous crime if ever there was one.
“I’m still of a mind to putthatone down to carelessness on Prinny’s part,” Peregrine said.
Or, perhaps, even a tall tale spun to garner sympathy. Parodies depicting the regent as a hog continued to circulate in London’s morning rooms. Prinny wasn’t the kind of man to understand that the theft of one of his many treasures, while half of the populace of London starved, was unlikely to elicit sympathy from anyone.
“I wonder…” Hythe began, then he shook his head. “No—that’s impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” Peregrine said. “Any information you have, however trivial you consider it, might be the key to unlocking this mystery.”
“No—it’ll still be there.”
“What will?”
Hythe averted his gaze, as if he were ashamed of something. “It’s nothing,” he said. “A mere trinket—a landscape in one of the second-floor parlors. A snowfield, if I recall. Pretty enough, but it’s not at all valuable. I paid a shilling for it—no, two, I believe.”
“Two shillings? No trader in his right mind would sell it for such a pittance.”
