Miss Prestwick's Crusade by Anne Barbour Page B

However did you come by it? It's most unusual to find his work outside the Continent. His name is not so well known here yet."
    "Ah. It's one of my grandfather's acquisitions—the ninth earl, that is.” He grasped Helen's elbow to continue their progress. “He traveled extensively in Europe and was an avid collector of art works and objets d'art."
    "He had excellent taste,” observed Helen, twisting to catch another glance. “And—my word, I believe that's an Appiani over there."
    "Possibly,” murmured Edward. They had by now reached the dining chamber, to find his relatives already seated at table. Ushering Helen to a chair near the foot, he took his usual place at the head.
    Over cold meat and salad, Lady Camberwell at last deigned to take note of Helen's presence.
    "You live in Portugal, Miss Prescott?” she asked.
    "Yes—but my name is Prestwick.” Helen once again began to describe her background, only to be interrupted by the dowager. “Yes, yes, Edward told us all that.” Apparently the details of the maternal antecedents of the possible heir had risen to the top of her mind. “But I want to know about your family. From where did they move to Portugal? Were they related to the Lancashire Prestwicks?"
    "Not to my knowledge, ma'am. Both my mother and father were born in Sussex. My father's family were fanners; my mother's father was a barrister."
    At Lady Camberwell's expression of horror, Helen relented. “My father was the grandson of Viscount Haliwell. His seat was near Hasemere, and, my grandfather, the viscount's third son, was deeded a comfortable estate not far away. My mother was the former Henrietta Firmenty. Her father was a distant connection of the Duke of Brumford."
    She let the information drop casually and was ignobly gratified at Lady Camberwell's change of expression.
    "But—but—your father! He was—well, he was in trade!"
    Helen's fingers clenched around her fork. “By his own choice, ma'am. He was much devoted to art, but to his vast regret, possessed no talent for drawing or painting or any of the other forms of plastic art. So devoted, however, was his study of the masters, that he became extremely knowledgeable on art history, the lives and styles of various artists, techniques, different media of expression, and the appraisal of works of art. In short, ma'am, he became an expert. The field fascinated him, and he knew his expertise could earn him—and his new bride—a more than comfortable living."
    Helen paused, bending a brittle smile on the assemblage.
    "Never heard of the feller."
    Helen swung about in surprise to gaze at Mr. Welladay.
    "Know a little something about art, m'self,” he grunted. “Fancy I would have heard of a well-known English art expert in Portugal."
    "Ah,” responded Helen, momentarily disconcerted. “Well, I am acquainted with a number of dealers in London. I suppose—"
    "Ever heard of Gerard?” snapped Mr. Welladay.
    "Why, yes, as a matter of fact I have corresponded with Thomas Gerard off and on for some five years. I am rather looking forward to meeting him in person during my sojourn in England."
    Uncle Stamford muttered something unintelligible but said nothing further.
    Helen, looked at him oddly but continued her discourse to the group at large.
    "At any rate, as might be expected, neither his family nor that of my mother displayed the slightest enthusiasm for this program, and rather than embarrass them or cause any more friction, he moved his little family to the continent. He had friends there, influential in the art world, who promised him assistance in his budding career. He struggled for awhile, but in a surprisingly short time, he became highly successful as an art dealer, restorer and historian.
    "Unfortunately, my mother passed away at Beatrice's birth. That was in ‘88. I was six at that time and became, perforce, the lady of the household. Our housekeeper was extremely able, and she took it upon herself to teach me the rudiments of