“You did?” Ivor’s early travel adventures were the stuff of legend.
“A tale for another time, Kate,” he said as he always did.
One day I’d pin him down.
The aide, Jay’den, poked her head in the room. “Need anything? Cup o’ tea, p’raps?”
“My freedom, since you ask,” he said with mock dignity.
“Soon as doctor gives the all clear.” She grinned. “Until then we’re stuck wi’ each other.”
“Go on, then.” Ivor waved her away. “Find your next victim.” This had evidently become a favorite line of banter between them. He resumed his lecture. “I believe this plate—some might call it a tray—was made during the early Ming dynasty, when the art of carving lacquer reached its peak. Say sometime between 1368 and 1430.”
“Earlier than I thought. How can you tell?”
“First, the size. Carved lacquer objects of this size became popular in the court of the Yuan dynasty—late fourteenth century. After 1430, smaller items were preferred. Then there’s the thickness of the lacquer; the depth and skill of carving; the well-polished finish; the exuberance and complexity of the interwoven floral design; the smooth, rounded outlines—all typical of the early Ming period.” He turned the plate over, exposing the line of Chinese characters I’d noticed. “And then there’s this.”
“A reign mark?”
“Not exactly. The characters say Zhang Chao zao—‘made by Zhang Chao,’ a master carver known to have worked in the late fourteenth century, the Ming dynasty. Think of it, Kate. This plate was created during a time of stability and abundance in China, when art and culture flourished. It lived on to witness upheaval, rebellion, wars, and betrayal.”
Betrayal? My cheeks went hot. Blood drummed in my head.
“Kate, are you listening?” Ivor touched my arm. “I said this plate had to have been made by the master himself.”
I shook myself mentally. “But didn’t the Chinese often inscribe objects with the names of earlier artists and earlier dynastic periods?”
“Certainly—not to fool people but to honor their glorious past. Nevertheless, given the size and exceptional quality, the style, and the provenance—the letter, stating this came from the Old Summer Palace in 1860—there’s no reason to doubt the attribution.”
“So what do we say in the auction description? Nigel Oakley will ask.”
“You say, ‘Attributed to the master carver Zhang Chao, circa 1368 to 1400 CE.’ I’ll write something up for you.”
“And the value?”
“I’ve been doing a little research. A similar plate, slightly larger, sold at Sotheby’s in 2017 for a million and a half. I’d say between six and eight hundred thousand pounds on a good day.”
I tried to take that in. Selling the cinnabar plate would be the answer to all Lady Barbara’s problems. “With something so valuable, she’d be better off with one of the auction houses in London rather than a local start-up.”
“In that case, prepare her for unpleasant publicity.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the past, the Chinese government has tried to block the sale of objects known to have come from the imperial palaces. Lots of adverse press coverage.”
“Yes, the Tiger Ying.”
“She might rather keep things local—under the radar, so to speak.”
It was almost exactly what Evelyn Villiers had said when I’d mentioned Sotheby’s and Christie’s: “No public auctions. No catalogs.” Had she known about The White Lotus Society? I wrapped the cinnabar plate in the brown felt bag and slipped it into the braided cotton tote bag Lady Barbara had given me.
“What do you know about the Oakleys? Tom says they’re on the up-and-up.”
“I know they spent a packet of money restoring the tithe barn. They did well with a collection of Scottish items I gave them. Not so well with the Roman trio.”
“But what about the Oakleys themselves—and Martin Ingram?” I swallowed hard as a flash of memory caught me unprepared—those pale crystal-blue eyes.
“The father has a sterling reputation. The son and the Ingram chap are new to these parts, but they’re reputed to have a great deal of experience. One of my sources told me they receive shipments from all over the Continent—France, Italy, Germany. Only the finest things.”
“Competition for you?” I stood, looping my handbag over my shoulder.
“Yes and no. Many of the objects I carry do best in an auction—in theory anyway. That’s why I’m hoping the Oakleys succeed.” He breathed out, something between a laugh and a sigh. “I may have to auction off quite a few items to cover the value of the húnpíng. That aside, a reputable auction house will bring trade to this part of Suffolk. Collectors don’t simply swan in for an auction and leave. They scour an area clean. More traffic, more sales.”
“Then I hope they succeed. Lady Barbara and I will attend the auction on Monday.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
“I will. I’ll call you soon. Oh, and Tom says hello.” I was almost out the door when I remembered. “Ivor, what do you know about the White Lotus Society?”
He peered at me narrowly. “Where did you hear about them?”
“In that book of yours, the one on Chinese art. It’s supposed to be a secret thing—the members pledged to repatriate China’s lost treasures by hook or by crook.”
“I ran across them once. Not a pleasant lot.”
“Do they ever farm out the work to common thieves?
“I couldn’t say. Why do you ask?”
I told him about the white petal found in the stockroom, pledging him to silence.
“Let’s hope it’s not the White Lotus chaps. The looting of the Summer Palace is rather a sore spot for the Chinese. Do you know what they call the era after the First Opium War? They call it bainian guochi, the ‘century of humiliation.’ Even today, with the rise of China as a major world power, the feelings of past humiliation remain. There’s a saying in China: “The flames of Yuan Ming Yuan remain unextinguished.” If I were you, I’d put the lacquer plate in Lady Barbara’s safe.”
Chapter Eighteen
Saturday, May 11
I was sleeping soundly when my phone rang. I
