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“I agree with you that costumes and props can quickly become foolish,” Rayley said, “but we are not
gluing on a set of whiskers, we are affecting an entire new identity. It strikes me as a marvelous
challenge, right up there with mastering the latest forensic techniques. And, just as Mrs. Arborton
says, the task shouldn’t be difficult. Who knows, the luster may have worn off the adventure already
for Anne, and we may easily be able to persuade her to return to London with us. We shall be back
by Christmas, I have no doubt of it.”
Tess smiled. “This is exactly what I hoped you would say.” Then she hesitated. “I have brought one
other thing,” she said. “It was left in Anne’s room and it shows, I believe, the ultimate use LaRusse
intends for her, as his muse…and as his…I left it by the door as I came in.”
“I shall get it,” Emma said, springing to her feet and thinking that if she was unable to travel to Hever,
which sounded quite glamorous, at least she could do research back in London. If LaRusse made a
habit of seducing his portrait models, there were probably any number of other ruined lives in his
wake, for it was Emma’s experience that men who enjoyed debasing women, rarely stopped with
debasing merely one. Who knows, she thought as she approached the cloakroom, there may be more
pieces of the story lurking here in London than out in the farmlands of Kent.
She quickly found the package Tess must have meant and returned to the drawing room with a tube in
her hand, a long thin affair of the sort an architect might use to transport his drawings. She handed it
to Tess, who withdrew a rolled paper from its depths and then suddenly looked around the circle and
said “Must I be here for this part?”
“Of course not, darling,” said Geraldine. “But I insist you stay for supper. Come, let us go tell Gage
to lay another plate and as we dine we shall conspire, all of us, to create the identities Rayley and
Trevor shall assume for their journey.”
“Poor Gage,” Tess murmured but she obediently got to her feet. “It seems he must do everything
around here.”
“We’ve tried a number of maids but no one suits him,” Geraldine said. “He is horribly shy, you
know. I think it’s the goiter. He thinks people are staring at him, which, of course, they are…”
The two older women disappeared from the room and Trevor, Rayley, and Emma waited for their
voices to fade. Once they were sure Tess was truly gone, they pulled the paper from its tube and
unrolled it on a table top then stood, shoulder to shoulder, gazing down at the image found there.
It was a half-done sketch, showing the skill of the artist, just as Tess had claimed. But this was no
ordinary portrait. A wide-eyed girl, evidently Anne Arborton, was seated on a rock gazing out at the
viewer. Her gown had slipped from one shoulder, exposing a young and perfectly round breast. Over
the other shoulder was the image of a faraway castle, perched on a hill. And printed at the top of the
drawing was the title: The Angel of Hever Castle.
“So he’s already had her,” Emma said, turning away from the table in disgust. “The girl’s future is
ruined.”
“Not necessarily,” Rayley said. “Painters must use live models for their nudes and those models must
come from somewhere. Say what you wish about LaRusse, even this rough sketch shows he has