The Artist and the Rake (The Merry Misfits of Bath 4)

“Yes, it is. But they have other crimes they’re investigating. And they must be slow and methodical. They don’t want to arrest people and then see them go free because they didn’t build up a strong enough case against them.”

She turned to look out the window at the carriages going in the opposite direction, everyone anxious to return home for dinner. “It’s all so frustrating.”

“Yes, it is, sweeting. But I’m in contact with all the people I met while working on my bill. There is a wealth of information out there. Several that even the police are not privy to because some of my contacts came through Nick Smith and they would rather die than talk to a Peeler. I promise you that justice will be served.”

“As long as it’s served up on a silver platter to Mrs. O’Leary.”

13

“I don’t understand why you won’t tell me where we are going.” Lizbeth frowned at Marcus as they made their way down the steps the next morning.

“I’ve told you, it’s better to be a surprise. I’d rather have you see what I found than have me tell you about it.” He helped her into the waiting carriage and settled across from her.

“How does the driver know where we’re going?” She was as excited as a young child, almost wanting to bounce on the seat. From Marcus’s expression, and the humor in his eyes, this trip was apparently something he felt she would enjoy.

“I had Penrose tell the driver where I wanted him to take us when I requested the carriage earlier today.” He grinned. “It won’t take much time to get there, so you won’t have to speculate for long.”

She sighed. “Very well.” Stubborn man. Reconciled to not knowing what he was about, she relaxed in the seat and studied the busy traffic and scurrying shoppers.

The morning was the beginning of another overcast and somewhat chilly day. She was too excited to feel the cold and spent the time pondering wherever it was they were headed and what it could be that Marcus wanted to show her.

True to his word they had only traveled for about twenty minutes when the carriage stopped in front of a store. Lizbeth ducked her head to look out the window at the name.

The Walker Gallery

For Connoisseurs of the Finest in Art

Lizbeth looked over at Marcus who was trying hard to hide his smile.

“An art gallery? Are we looking to buy paintings?”

He shook his head and stepped out of the carriage. “Wait and see.” He reached out and took her hand and helped her down the step.

The tinkle of a bell, reminding her of the bookstore, greeted them as they entered the gallery. A man approached them, looking very much like the owner of an art gallery, dressed in the height of fashion, with nary a hair out of place. “Good morning, Mr. Mallory. I assume this is the artist of whom we spoke?”

Marcus took her hand and drew her forward. “That is correct, Mr. Walker. This is Miss Lizbeth Davenport.”

Mr. Walker bowed to her and she gave a slight dip since she had no idea what else to do. The man moved forward and took her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Davenport. Welcome to my art gallery.”

“Thank you.” She looked over at Marcus who was grinning.

“Miss Davenport, I invite you to look at our artwork. I’m sure you will be impressed with the talented artists we showcase.” Mr. Walker looked over at Marcus, a gleam in his eyes as well.

“Yes. Thank you.” Still confused at this entire encounter, she made her way to one wall and began to look over the paintings. Some were very, very good, and some she knew she could do better. Mr. Walker and Marcus spoke in soft tones while she perused the artwork.

She glanced back at them and Marcus smiled at her again. The entire visit was becoming surreal. But the artwork was for the most part excellent. She strolled to the next wall and let out a gasp, covering her mouth with her hands. She spun around to look at Marcus. “These are my paintings!”

He studied her with a look she could not identify. “I know, my dear. They are your paintings.”

“But how…how?” She couldn’t form a complete sentence. She shook her head and looked back at the wall again, making sure she wasn’t seeing things.

She looked over her shoulder. “Marcus. These are my paintings.” She turned back and looked at them again. She walked along, counting as she went. Most of her paintings that were missing now hung on the wall of an art gallery.

“Miss Davenport, there is a story that goes with this.” Mr. Walker joined her.

“I’m sure there is.” She didn’t turn to him but kept staring at her paintings. “Oh, I love this one. It was my favorite.” She kept moving down the space until she came to a painting of her youngest brother. Tears formed in her eyes as she remembered how hard it had been to get him to sit still for her.

She turned to Marcus. “This is Eli.” Her voice broke and he moved up to her and handed her a handkerchief.