Page 91 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
“Umber!” Nola shouted.
Cooper placed the book on the table. “So, basically, we now have four objects with identifiable colors: brown, yellow, umber, and red.”
I sat up. “And that means...?”
Cooper and Nola shared a glance before looking back at me. “We’re not sure. That’s why we were hoping we could brainstorm a little bit now.”
Jack reached for the notebook and pen and Cooper slid them down the table. Across the top of a blank page, Jack jotted down the four words and their four corresponding colors. “What we need to do now is put this all in the context of the Vanderhorsts at that time. What they would have been familiar with and what connection to those four words and/or colors they might have had. A familiarity known by Lafayette so that his letter would be understood by them and hopefully not by any others.”
“Our thoughts exactly, sir,” Cooper said. “And since we’re working on the premise that this might be connected to the French king’s treasure, we’ve been looking at those four colors in that context.”
Jack was still scribbling but looked up at Cooper. “And what have you found so far?”
“Nothing yet, sir. But I’m prepared to stay here all night with Nola and help figure it out.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”
“Dad!” Nola shouted, her face a mask of mortification.
“No, sir,” Cooper said, a pink stain on his cheeks. He cleared histhroat. “We did figure out one thing, sir, in regards to the umber. Mrs. Vanderhorst was an avid art collector. There are actually quite a few paintings she acquired while living at Gallen Hall that were later donated by the family to the Gibbes Museum. It was well-known that her favorite artists were Rembrandt and Vermeer. So it would make sense that she’d know about Vermeer’s preferred palette.”
“And the marquis would have made it his business to know this,” Jack said, thumping the end of his pen against the notebook before dropping it, then slumping back in his chair, his face taking on a waxy sheen.
“Jack—you need to rest.” I stood and went to him. Cooper and Nola moved toward him, too, but I waved them back. “No sense in three of us getting exposed—I promise to be careful.” I helped Jack stand, and I could hear his teeth chattering again. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”
“I love it when you say that,” he croaked.
“Dad!” Nola shouted. “We’re still here, you know.”
Jack grinned through his chattering, then reached back toward the table. “I need my notebook. For later,” he said after he saw my alarm.
Nola grabbed it and handed it to me, and I carried it upstairs while my other arm was wrapped around Jack’s shoulders. I gave him an Advil, then tucked him into bed, adding another blanket at his request.
“Put the notebook and pen here,” he said, indicating the space where I usually slept in the bed. “For when I wake up and feel better.”
“Sure,” I said, “but don’t work too hard. You really need to rest so you can get better.” I sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing the hair from his forehead. “Is there anything else you need?”
He raised his eyebrows in a familiar gesture.
“Jack—you’re sick, remember?”
“Doesn’t mean I’m dead,” he muttered. “Anything else I can be mulling over while I’m stuck here?”
The worddeadreminded me of something Anthony had said. “Maybe. Anthony and I were talking earlier, and he mentioned how he’s pretty sure it’s Eliza Grosvenor who pushed him down the stairs at Gallen Hall. He gets really bad vibes when he passes her portrait, so hethinks she hates him. He suggested that maybe he resembles somebody from her life that she didn’t like.”
“Or maybe she just hates men.”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t think that’s it. It’s only Anthony she seems to pick on. And she definitely doesn’t hate men. I think she kissed Greco.”
Jack lifted his head from the pillow, then immediately laid it back down. “When did this happen?”
I couldn’t remember what I’d told him and what I hadn’t. He still hadn’t told me what Jolly had mentioned—the evil presence from the cistern that had followed Jack into my office. In a fit of pique I’d decided to keep the bee incidents and my mother’s outbursts from Jack until he shared with me what he’d learned. It was childish and stupid, and I’d already decided that I was going to tell him everything. As soon as he was better, when he could process it all. That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway. I looked down at my hand where I wore the signet ring and placed my other hand over it.
“He had to stop by to pick something up before heading out to a living history event and was dressed in his complete British regimental uniform. He was standing in Nola’s room when he said he felt a woman kiss his cheek. I’m pretty sure it was Eliza—I sense her a lot in there.”
Jack was thoughtful for a moment. “So, Alexander was the British soldier quartered at Gallen Hall, but Eliza was engaged to Lawrence, the son of the family.” His eyelids were beginning to droop. “It’s interesting that she’d kiss a British soldier, don’t you think?”
I looked down at the signet ring again, remembering how Greco had told me he’d felt the kiss after he’d slipped it on his finger. And how my mother was certain the owner of the ring was a woman. I lifted my hand to show him. “Greco found this in the bedpost....”
