Death of an Old Master Read Online Free Page A

Warwickshire, blessed with red deer and a river running through the grounds. The interior was not blessed. Decades of lack of money had left it
in a sad condition.
    Edmund had gained entrance by his usual ploy. He had a standard letter which stated that he was compiling a four-volume compendium on the artistic treasures held in Great Britain, to appear
volume by volume over a period of ten years. A number of firms were described as being involved in the venture, foremost among them de Courcy and Piper of Old Bond Street, London. De Courcy
explained to the houses he visited that the great advantage of his firm being involved was that any owners who wished to extend their collections could apply to de Courcy and Piper who would know
where more Carpaccios or Caravaggios could be found and, possibly, purchased to extend existing collections. In the unlikely event of anybody wanting to sell – and how unlikely that must be,
de Courcy would always exclaim with a charming smile at this point – then reluctantly, very reluctantly, the house of de Courcy and Piper would see what service they might offer.
    It so happened that most of the houses de Courcy visited were in need of repair. New roofs, fresh plumbing, the urgent need for modern kitchens were all crying out for money that was not
there.
    Most of the Hammond-Burke pictures were in the Great Hall and the dining room. ‘I think it might be easier if you left me for a while,’ de Courcy said to his host. ‘I need to
make notes.’ He pointed to a forbidding large black notebook in his left hand. Everywhere he went de Courcy made copious notes of all the paintings and sculpture in the houses. This was the
cover story. He knew that he could quite soon produce, if he had to, the first volume of the proposed compendium. The real purpose of his visit was to see what might sell, what might fetch the
highest prices.
    He sat down at a small writing table and set to work. There were few houses he visited which did not lay claim to Titians and Van Dycks. Sure enough, there they were, on either side of the great
fireplace. De Courcy inspected them carefully and shook his head. ‘Here we go again,’ he said to himself. By this stage of his new career Edmund de Courcy had acquired a very
considerable knowledge of the works of the Old Masters. He had once boasted to William Alaric Piper that he could spot a fake Titian at fifty paces. Here were some more. Generations of English
tourists on the Grand Tour had been fleeced by their hosts. The devious Venetians, the even more devious Romans had been quick to discover which Old Masters particularly appealed to their visitors.
A few days or a few weeks later, copies or forgeries would mysteriously appear to be carried home in triumph to the broad fields of Hampshire and Surrey.
    ‘1,’ he wrote: ‘Isabella, wife of Emperor Charles V of Spain. 2: Christ on the Cross.’ Then he wrote ‘titian’ without the capital T to remind himself that the
paintings were not genuine works by the master. He continued through a whole series devoted to ancestor worship which took him from Number 3 to Number 41 across four pages of his book. A cavalcade
of previous Hammond-Burkes, sometimes simply Hammond, at other times simply Burke, stared down at him. There were Thomases and Sarahs, Alices and Williams, Henrys and Constances. Most of them
looked pretty pleased with their lot, apart from one old woman, painted by an unknown hand, who was scowling at the painter as if she wished he would go away. The artists were various, a couple of
Knellers that looked genuine, a couple of Gainsboroughs that looked doubtful.
    But it was a painting to the left of the fireplace in the dining room that took his fancy. It was listed in his black catalogue as Number 75.
    The Holy Family with Lamb , the inscription on the frame declared. Rafaello Sanzio, called Raphael. De Courcy peered at it carefully. In the top left-hand corner was one of those imaginary